I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao © 2014 Onyx Tao

I, Dacien by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Complacency

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Dacien groaned as he woke up. The mattress - if one could call it that - was barely a pad, a folded blanket on top of rough planking, and he hurt all over, like ... like ... he couldn't quite remember. There had been a ... a ... fight? Had he been in fight? Only he didn't remember a fight, he didn't ... remember.

He really, really hurt. He hurt in places he didn't know he had. His horns hurt, and men didn't have ...

Dacien stopped as his hand touched horns. His horns. And what was with the ... room? Cell? Prison? Why was he in prison? What ... he jumped, or tried to jump, when he saw the minotaur on the other side, sitting cross-legged on the other cot, his left hoof chained to the wall, but the chain on his own hoof stopped him. _ Hoof? _

"Dacien?" the minotaur asked. "Are you awake?"

"How do you know my name? Where am I? What ... what's happened to me?"

"I ... I know your name because you told me," the minotaur said. "My name is Dusan, and if you can still appreciate the humor in this, I know that only because you told me. I don't know where we are, and a mage has been removing our memories."

"Yes, but why am I ... like this?" Dacien looked down at himself. In the sourceless blue glow, he could see himself, a roan and white minotaur. And that should upset him more, he thought, and it didn't.

"Like ... what?" asked Dusan, after a moment.

"A minotaur," said Dacien. "Why am I a minotaur?"

Dusan's head shifted, and then he looked back and forth over at Dacien's side of the cell.

"What ... I ... I'm sorry," Dusan said. "I don't understand the question. The mage has removed a lot of my ... my .... of ..." and he stopped. "I don't understand. Is this a philosophical point? What else would you be?"

"Ah..." said Dacien. Human, of course, came to mind, but ... something stopped him from saying it. "I'm sorry," Dacien forced himself to say. "I'm just ... confused."

"Oh, yes," Dusan said. "Believe me, that, I understand." The pristine gave a short laugh, and went on to describe how to reach the bucket, the waterskin, and the bread.

"Are you blind?" seemed like an obvious question, but Dacien went ahead and asked it anyway.

"No," said Dusan, sounding puzzled. "At least, the last time it was light I could see just fine. In here, who can tell?"

Dacien puzzled over that answer for a moment, and waved his hand, quietly, in front of Dusan, looking for any movement, but Dusan's eyes didn't move. So, where was that odd bluish light coming from? It wasn't coming from the walls, or the floor, or the ceiling, or really ...

Magic, he remembered. I can see in the dark. A few other memories trickled back with it; a smaller laughing brown minotaur, a human crouched at the feet of a fearsome ebon minotaur, stars dancing outside a window, but they didn't make sense. Magic? He was a mage? He was, he knew, but ... he also knew he couldn't touch his magic. It was locked, and another memory surfaced: mage-locked. A flash of that Ebon minotaur again, talking passionately to a group of others. Was that what happened?

Some time later, Dacien and Dusan went out for a run, commanded by another Ebon minotaur. More magic, Dacien thought, as he found himself obeying. More minotaurs, Pristine-Ebon hybrids, joined them, and there was something significant about that, but Dacien couldn't quite remember what it was. The course was a long, long stone spiral, up and down, without even windows to add interest, and they ran up and down it several times before the Ebon was satisfied.

A flogging followed the run, an Ebon minotaur used an oddly familiar metal cane to strike him, drawing blood. It had happened before, but the pain seemed remote. Even the pungent ointment that was smeared on him and Dusan liberally didn't do much to him, although he had the strangest feeling that it should; that there was something important about it.

It certainly affected Dusan, who tossed and turned and groaned, but it didn't trouble Dacien at all. Sleep came easily.

Dacien woke to the scent of canvas, trampled grass, and the rich warm pine-resin smell of minotaur, and it was that last, more than anything else, that told him he was dreaming. That was a human perception, the human interpretation of minotaur musk, and he hadn't smelled it ... since he had changed. Unsure of what he'd see, Dacien kept his eyes closed and just let the other sensations of the dream seep in - the warmth of the summer night, the faint buzz of insects, the murmur of deep minotaur voices.

He remembered this night - or maybe he just thought he remembered this night. There was something ... something ... something he had to remember, if he could just remember what it was ...

"Hello, Dacien," Sasha's voice said. "Do you know where we are?"

With that, Dacien did open his eyes; took in the tent where he and the brown minotaur mage had spent their second - definitely their second night - looked down at the bedroll which lacked the stain it would have a few days later, after Sasha spilled a mug of tea onto it.

"I will? I should have been more careful ..." Sasha's voice said wistfully. It came from behind him, but Dacien wasn't ready to turn around, not just yet, although he couldn't say why not. "I am sorry, Dacien."

"It wasn't your fault, you were showing me ..."

"Not for that," the voice said. "I have not kept you safe. I gave you protections that night, as many and as deep as I could, and ... they've failed. All of them. This is the last one ... the desperate things that I give you because, I don't have anything more. I beg your forgiveness, apprentice, colleague, friend ... I hope, friend."

"What do ..." and then Dacien was silent as the memories surfaced. Terrible memories, of Timas slicing through his mind, cutting away his past, carving him down, turning his own experiences into solid chains and welding them shut around him. But he knew, at least, what had been taken now. Teodor - his strange mentor, and then father. His self-appointed brother, Chelm ... his own friends. Even the cold distrust of Xavien. Cresphontes' careful regard and hopes. His own memories, used and twisted and warped to cage him.

"But no more," Sasha's voice said. "Be free, Dacien, of these compulsions. Do whatever you must to keep them from returning. Anything. Be free, Dacien. And ..."

He might not know how he knew, but he knew. Dacien turned around to face the mage, sitting almost forlornly on his own bedroll, naked, and the wall of the tent was sagging down as the supports slowly came apart. "Two gifts," the mage said, reaching down to the bedroll for a knife sitting by him. Sasha plunged the blade into his stomach, and drew a long horizontal cut right above his waist, and then another vertical line, up to his sternum. "I apologize for the mess," the brown minotaur said as his guts spilled out onto the flattened grass in the tent, and Sasha reached out to paint a short curve on Dacien's forehead. "The very last of my protection, Dacien." The mage rooted through the intestines as if he was oblivious to their nature, and then with a grunt, pulled a blobby thing dripping blood and fluid out of the mess. "Here," he said, handing it to Dacien. "You'll need this; it is endless sleep. And ..." He reached into the gaping hole of his abdomen, and felt around for a moment, searching, until the arm paused in its twitching hunt.

"Sleeping death," Sasha said, and then looked at the tentflap, now hanging precariously from the tilted roof. "It will shut down the mind of anyone you give it to." The minotaur wrenched his hand, ripping something out of himself, then pressed his beating heart into Dacien's other hand. "Remember. Endless sleep," he said, closing Dacien's hand over the first organ.

"Sleeping death," the minotaur repeated, closing Dacien's hand over the beating heart that was struggling to get out of his hands. "Be free, Dacien," he said as the tent poles came apart and the canvas drifted down with an impossible tempus-like slowness amid the burst chains and broken bars. "Wake and be free."

Dacien - and he remembered who he was, now, mostly. No, not remembered, he didn't remember, remembering was a different thing, a set of experiences and memories that had been stolen from him. He'd gotten some of those memories back - but they weren't memories any longer; they were cold, lifeless facts. He had been Commander-of-Ten in the Empire. Captured. He'd loved Teodor, even though - and perhaps because - the roan had transformed him into Teodor's own son. Dacien knew, in a cold factual way, that he'd returned Teodor's affection, but the memories of the affection, just like the affection itself, were gone. "I loved him," Dacien said to himself. It was a joke that perhaps only Teodor himself might appreciate, that the very first time Dacien would admit that he loved the domineering roan was now, when that love was as vanished as the recollections of Teodor himself. He might not love anymore.

But he had.

And he knew who had taken it away.

Sasha had given him ... there. Yes. Three spells, wound and intricate and complex. One of them was already in place, so that must be the protection Sasha had promised. But the other two ... they gleamed and twisted in his mind. Different, they were obviously different, one from the other, but which was Sasha's spell of sleep, and which was the spell of death?

And here he was ... more not-memories sifted back, a sort of cold knowledge, mere information, like dry facts recited by a tutor, lodged in his memory like some memorized list of Emperors dead and gone. Dacien took a deep breath, and looked around the room. Sasha had promised the restrictions had been lifted, and there was only one way to find out if the restrictions were truly gone. And if they were ... if they were ... "Dusan?"

"Eh?"

"I am Dacien," Dacien said softly. "I am to be obeyed."

It wasn't Dacien's magic, but something on Dusan reacted; the bluish light rippled, and Dacien wondered if he were seeing by magic alone before he wrenched his attention back to his cellmate. Yes. The magic was there, wound around and around Dusan's mind, like some pernicious vine of glimmering blue-white. He started to remove it, and then paused. No. Not yet. "Defend me." His attention returned to the door.

Without the mage's - Timas' - restrictions, he could sense the magic on the door. See it, holding the door shut, rock mated to rock. He reached out, touched the magic. Twisted it. Pulled. Tested it. Could it be so simple? Yes. Yes it could.

The door swung open, letting in a dim, sad light that instantly overpowered the clearer vision he'd had, seeing by magic alone. Dusan looked up, with a look of dread, but of course nobody stepped through. Dacien got up, paused as he felt the chain on his leg. The same twist opened it, too, and Dacien popped Dusan's chain open with equal ease. Foolish, some part of him thought, although how likely was it that they would knowingly imprison a mage?

The two hybrid guards outside looked startled, and they lacked the spell wound about them that had allowed Dacien to bind Dusan. They hesitated, lacking orders that covered this situation, but Dacien did not. He used one of the remaining spells; pouring his magic into the first one, and extending the spell to the guard, and the hybrid simply collapsed, a marionette with cut strings. And then it was Dacien's turn to hesitate, to see what that spell would do. If it was, as he hoped, the spell of deathless sleep.

Not the spell of sleeping death.

The other guard blurred into invisibility, and Dacien had just enough time to understand his mistake; he should have enspelled both of them, but by the time he'd realized that, the fight between Dusan and the guard was finished, and Dusan was standing over the battered form of the second guard. Dacien tested the first one, and ... the magic appeared stable. Then the first spell was probably the sleep spell, which made sense. Sasha, or the dream of Sasha, or whatever it was had left them in his mind in the order he'd mentioned them. He readied the spell again, and ... paused. He could wait. He would not leave this warrior awake, but he could wait a few more minutes. They were victims, no less than he, and he would touch them as lightly as he could.

He could give them five minutes, to be certain that he had correctly identified the spell of sleep.

In the meantime, he glanced around the room, aware now as he hadn't been before. The floor was the same worn stone of his cell - perhaps more so. More doors, like his, fifteen, spaced around the room and there, the way out, no longer guarded.

"Dacien," Dusan said, looking down uneasily at the two guards, one sleeping, and one battered unconscious, "I don't know what's happened, but we ... we should leave. Immediately."

"I agree, but how do we leave? Do you know how to get out of here, for whatever here and _out_means?"

"I think I..." and the pristine minotaur paused. "I don't. I think I did, but ... I don't."

Dacien nodded. "Yes ..." He paused, looking around the room again, and took a step over to the door next to the cell that had been theirs. A twist, and it opened, revealing two Pristine marque noir, or two Ebon marque blanc. Dacien wasn't sure which was truly accurate, but either description was better than his captors' dismissive pejorative of hybrid. They just looked at him. "I am Dacien. I am to be obeyed."

Dacien quashed a sensation of guilt for using this domination magic. "What are your names?"

"I am designated Three," the first one said, at the same time the second responded "I am designated Four."

"I am changing those designations," Dacien said crisply. "You, Three, are now ... Red. Four, you are now Orange. You will respond only to those designations."

"Yes, Master," they chorused.

"We will be doing a new exercise. You must learn to obey only the orders you are given. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"If I order something, it is an order for you. If any other Master wishes to order you, he will use your designation. If a Master other than myself gives an order, but does not use your designation, the order is not meant for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," they said.

"That's clever," said Dusan.

"It is if it works," Dacien said. "And ... Dusan. Until I say otherwise, no person other than myself is speaking to you. You will ignore anything anyone else says. They are not talking to you. They are not ordering you. Anything they say can be forgotten, because however important it is, it is not important for you. Until I say otherwise, only what I say is intended for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Dusan said, and then shook his head. "That's ... that's weird."

"Sorry," said Dacien. "But if we're to have any chance of getting out, then ... I needed to do that." He turned to the two. "Red, defend me. Orange, defend this minotaur. His name is Dusan."

"Yes, Master," they said, and moved to flank them.

"How's that?"

"Ingenious," Dusan said. "And a little scary."

Dacien shook his head. "These assholes have had it their way for too long," he said. "I had lots of time to think about how to get around their control, if I had a chance."

"What gave you the chance, Master?"

Dacien stopped. "Did you just call me Master?"

"Yes, Master," Dusan said. "Why?"

Dacien shook his head in irritation. "Side-effect, I suppose. If - when - we get out of this, I know a good mind-mage who will be able to remove it." And fix me. I hope.

"You do? How?"

"I ..." and Dacien stopped. "Not important. Let's get the rest of these doors open, and see how many more of these we can get. Let me see ...

Two more doors revealed another four ninjas-in-training who joined as Dacien redesignated them Yellow, Green, Blue, and Violet. The third door revealed ... Bryant. The blue's eyes flickered to Dacien in surprised recognition - but the bull himself didn't move. Not-memories flooded back into Dacien's head. Bryant. Hector. A hot pool at the spa; the night at the symphony ... all devoid of any real meaning, just ... facts. He'd enjoyed them. How much? Dacien couldn't know, not from the scant, bare bits in his mind.

The bull was struggling to move, and Dacien could see the blue-white magic that held him, coiled around his mind. A touch was all he needed to disperse it. "Dacien!" the blue blurted. "Are you all right? How did you escape?"

"Not really," Dacien said. "And I escaped because Sasha is very, very smart. Do you remember Sasha?"

"Yes ..." Bryant said carefully. "But I know I don't remember the time I've been here. I don't think Timas did anything beyond a ... a ... sort of amnesia. I've been here ... weeks, I think, at least, but I just remember arriving a day ago ..." and Bryant paused. "Oh. Oh ..."

"What?"

"What happened to Timas? He's an air-mage." Bryant said. "He did - something - and I couldn't move when the door was open. You removed that?"

"Yes," Dacien said. "Timas told me - obliquely - how to control the others. I think he did it on purpose."

"He told you?"

"He ... hinted at it. I think he's every bit as mindbent as ... as I was."

"They're depending on a mindbent mage to do their mindbending?" Bryant asked, sounding astounded.

"It seems to have worked for them so far."

"Then ... maybe ... maybe that makes sense. Timas said something, and I thought he was just gloating, but ... maybe not."

Gloating? That didn't sound right ... "Bryant, do you remember exactly what Timas said?"

The blue minotaur looked surprised. "Of course I do. I'd asked about you and Kant. He said, 'The roan hybrid is imprisoned. Your companion Kant was taken via Fell Ridge, through the Xarbydis Garden, from there to the Hall of the Sun, and then outside. There's an archway - a manufactured border. He was led out, and sold after I stripped his mind. As for you and your hybrid, you will escape only over my dead body. But since you cannot leave this cell, that is no help to you at all."

Dacien thought about that. "That is, he told you how to get out."

Bryant nodded. "He must have thought you'd escape."

A smile twisted across Dacien's muzzle. "Clever," he said. You will escape only over my dead body. "Maybe we can rescue him, too."

Bryant's face dropped. "Dacien, he ... he's telling you to kill him."

Dacien nodded. "I know. But I can strip the controls out of his mind."

Bryant shook his head. "I don't think so. It doesn't work like that. All you can do is strip an active effect out of his mind; you can't remove anything that's already set."

Dacien blinked. "How do you know that?"

Byrant looked surprised for a moment, and then just nodded. "Because I was educated thoroughly on magic. Because as a guard, I need to know. When an air-mage checks someone for controls, they have to go deep enough to be certain there aren't any controls. Testing someone in that way is right on the verge of mindbending itself - it's a deep invasion of someone's mind. It's not enough to look for an active spell, although most such controls use active spells. But if Timas is mindbent - it's probably set so that it's not active. When ... when we have a moment, I think I'd like to talk to you privately."

"Believe it or not, this is private," Dacien said with a smile. "The others are under specific orders to ignore anything anyone else says."

"So they can't be ordered," said Bryant. "Smart. Are you sure it will work?"

"No..." said Dacien. "I hope it will," and he went on to explain what he'd done.

"Right. Can we test it? How did you bring them under your control? Time is an issue, but ... we need to know. If they can be used against us, we'll have to leave them here."

Dacien nodded. "I hadn't ... yes. It's a specific phrase. I am Bryant. I am to be obeyed. Try that on one of them - that one," and he pointed to the one he'd designated Green.

"I am Bryant. I am to be obeyed," Bryant announced. Nothing.

"Try addressing him first as Green," Dacien said. The blue minotaur nodded, and tried again. "Green, I am Bryant. I am to be obeyed."

"Yes, Master," the minotaur said almost instantly.

"Well, it looks that was exactly right," Bryant said. "Green. Defend me. From this point forward, if anyone other than Dacien or myself gives you an order, that person will use your designation. Otherwise, they are not addressing you. Direct orders from Dacien and myself will be obeyed. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master."

Bryant looked at Dacien. "Tell me you find that creepy."

Dacien nodded. "Yes. I'm hoping Sasha ... can do something."

"I don't know," Bryant said. "This is something I'd toss to Lord Fog, though, not Lord Doze."

"We can ask their opinion after we escape," Dacien said. "Maybe we can avoid running into Timas."

"Maybe," said Bryant, in a tone that clearly said he found that unlikely. "I'm not sure that would be the best outcome, though."

"What?"

"Later," said Bryant. "Mage Dacien - we have to get out of here. I ... we have to. We won't have another opportunity."

"I want to check the remaining cells here," Dacien said. "Having ninja with us will be worth the delay, yes?"

"Yes," Bryant agreed after a moment.

While Bryant opened the remaining doors, and used Dacien's trick with the three trainees he found there, naming then Pear, Apple, and Kiwi, Dacien changed his orders to Dusan to let him pay attention to - and potentially act on - anything Bryant said. Dacien also checked the fallen guards. The enspelled guard slept on. Another brief moment of consultation and orders, and Dusan took the lead, as if escorting Dacien and Bryant surrounded by a ninja guard. It turned out that outside the cells, the corridors were labeled. All they had to do was follow the signs for Fell Ridge. They passed one or two minotaur, but they asked no questions, simply hurrying along on their own errands. The halls started to show signs of abandonment: dust, and they passed through several doors whose rusted hinges and dry, crumbling wood suggested they hadn't been opened in years.

Fell Ridge was just a tower, although it offered the first windows they'd seen other than skylights. It might have been an abandoned watchtower, looking out over a wave-swept body of water; it looked like an ocean, but the air didn't smell of salt - just of damp. In some eerie way, it smelled ... it smelled like the ocean that had devoured Scylla had smelled. Dead, although Dacien could pick up no hint or trace of magic. Although ... someone had said the Xarbydis poison was undetectable itself. Could this be another shore of that ocean? There was some debris - branches, leaves, but no seaweed. The rocky shore showed nothing, but a few hardy clumps of grass clung to the rock walls. Dacien couldn't see any other buildings, and certainly nothing moved, either on the shore, and the sky was barren of everything but clouds.

"Eerie," said Bryant, staring out at it. "I wonder ..."

"What?" asked Dacien.

"If this view is why they abandoned this section," Bryant said, thoughtfully.

"Just living in those corridors?" asked Dacien. "Wouldn't that be ... eerie? Never to see the outside?"

"There are a lot of questions I'd like the answer to, but ..." Bryant paused. "My responsibility is to keep you safe, Mage Dacien. I was given that task by my Master, Lord Cresphontes."

Dacien nodded. "I remember something like that."

"You do?"

"Sort of ..." said Dacien. "I remember ... knowing you. Knowing who you are. Knowing things about you. But ... I don't have memories of you. Just ... the knowing. Nothing else. How I felt about it, for example. How I felt about you. I remember how I felt - but I don't remember feeling it."

"That's ..."

"Even stranger from the inside," said Dacien. "Even Teodor turning me into - turning me, I mean - I know it happened, but I don't ... remember it. At one point I woke up in the cell and I ... I thought I was human. I didn't remember changing - but I wasn't."

"And I said this was eerie," Bryant said somberly. "I beg your forgiveness, Dacien."

"This is eerie," Dacien said, gesturing out. "Nothing to forgive."

"No ... for failing to keep you safe."

Dacien just shook his head. "You did what you could. So did I. So did Sasha. Maybe it will be enough." He flashed the minotaur a smile. "It might."

"I'm not used to failing," Bryant said. "I am not well-practiced at it."

Dacien shook his head. "If you're not failing, you're not trying hard enough."

"What?"

"If you're not failing, you're not trying hard enough," Dacien said. "Your goals are too easy. You don't learn from success."

Bryant was silent for a moment. "Hector has said ... Hector has said the same things, only ... less bluntly, Mage Dacien."

"If I have offended you, I beg your forgiveness."

"No," said Bryant. "I must thank you for putting things clearly enough for me to understand, Mage Dacien. I am instructed, and ... I must think about this. I have never thought of my bloodline as a disadvantage, before."

"Disadvantage?"

"I am blue," Bryant replied. "I am Bryant Erd?s Lycaili, and I am used to succeeding - effortlessly, Mage Dacien, at everything to which I turn my hand. An Ebon or Pristine expects to succeed at warfare, management, leadership - a Blue expects to succeed at everything. Anything."

"And have you?"

"Up until I fell victim to Timas' sleep ... I have, Mage Dacien. Even what I had thought was a demotion - being reassigned from Lord Cresphontes' personal guard to yours - turned out to be a ... serious responsibility. A much increased responsibility, really."

"Oh?"

"And at the moment, my responsibility is absolute," Bryant said. "Given that I am the most senior of your Guard present. I feel up to the task, but I could easily wish for different circumstances, Mage Dacien."

"Oh yes," Dacien said feelingly.

"But ... Mage Dacien, do you have a plan for dealing with Timas - the mage - should we encounter him?" Bryant asked.

"No," admitted Dacien. "I think I can stop his magic, though."

"You are very certain, certain, moderately certain ..." prompted Bryant. "He is a full mage - we must assume he is equal in skill to Lord Fog or Lord Doze. Imagine yourself against one of them. Remember that he has been in your mind, and knows what you can do. Perhaps he's even planted something in your mind. Now, Mage Dacien, how confident are you that you can defend us completely from his magic."

"When you put it like that," admitted Dacien, "less than certain. I'm relatively confident that there's nothing ... planted in my mind, as you put it, but ... if he knows everything I can do, then ... I don't know. Probably ..."

"Mage Dacien, you lack the training and experience of Lords Fog and Doze," Bryant said seriously. "I know your power is unique, and that is the only reason I asked. If you were as talented as Lord Green or Lord Winter, but only with your current experience, this Timas would overmatch you, simply because of his greater skill."

Dacien nodded. "I still want to try, though. He deserves a chance; if we can restrain him, I have a spell of endless sleep I can lay on him."

Bryant seemed to think about that carefully before he replied, "He does deserve a chance, Mage Dacien. I cannot disagree. And the ninja he has with him? Do they deserve a chance?"

"I think they do. And you?"

"Again, I cannot disagree," Bryant said. "But please, Mage Dacien, do not engage Timas in a contest of magery. He will be ready for that, and the others with him will be protected - count on it.

* * *

Timas waited patiently outside the door to General Januisz's suite; the General had a weapons-session with a senior Keeper and had once, in a jesting tone, ordered that he not be disturbed for anything short of the end of the world. Timas had made sure to remind the General's commandos of that order, and likewise made certain the General's order should be passed on to all who warded the General's practices. At this point, the only person who could trace that command back to Timas was ... Timas himself, and that wasn't an accident. Similarly, in the case of an issue arising with the commandos-in-training, Timas was commanded to report to the nearest General - and that, likewise, was not an accident, having resulted from a clarifying question Timas had asked nearly two years ago.

There were several loopholes in the bindings that made his life miserable, and Timas had labored long and hard for every single one. He'd never used most of them, but he'd grasped at each one, levering it into just a little more leeway, in the remote hope that someday, he could bring enough of them together to consist of _ well-considered defiance _.

Today. Whether or not his defiance would be _ effective _, he didn't know - but he'd spent days considering how best to use the Lycaili mage and warlord who'd fallen into his Masters' unkind keeping. They'd almost discovered that Dacien was a mage several times, for Timas had to answer his Masters truthfully and immediately, and that gave him very little time to think of some clever phrasing or means to evade the question without appearing to evade it. Fortunately, he knew what they were likely to ask, how they would phrase it, and he'd worked out one-hundred and thirty-six different evasions and truthful-but-unrevealing replies to the stock questions and formal requests. Dacien was restrained, after all, and had no way or choice to free himself.

The brilliant anticompulsion that the Lycaili mage Sasha had buried in his mind would do that, but it wasn't Dacien's doing, nor the doing of any bull in the retreat. And, since it was there, Timas couldn't prevent it. He could have removed it, of course, but ... none of his orders required him to do such a thing. He was simply grateful he'd found it - it had been hidden expertly. If Timas hadn't been so determined to find something, someway, _ anything _ ... he would have missed it. He'd almost missed it anyway, given the cunning way Sasha had concealed it.

And that would have been a shame. It would have triggered, releasing Dacien, and the mage would have been freed - but to what use? So far in the depths of the Retreat, Timas doubted that the mind-damaged Roan would have been able to escape. Certainly not by himself. Not if he didn't know the command triggers that Timas had arranged Wolachya to give him. Timas' face didn't move as he waited, but he was smiling. Not if he didn't know the way out - which Timas had carefully told the Blue, routing him through the old poisoned levels. Nobody went there anymore, of course.

That was a risk. He'd considered all the orders he had, but had no cause to mention the poison. Fortunately, they were far enough from Xarbydis that it would take sustained exposure, two or three days, before they risked a lethal dose Xarbydis poisoning. They wouldn't stay or rest in the Retreat, not when they knew there was a border to pass, a border that would undoubtedly be reinforced as soon as they were missed. An acceptable risk, and hardly the only one he was taking. That was the problem; add enough acceptable risks together, and eventually ... they added up to unwarranted risk, and Timas feared he was horribly close to that. Still, Bryant was mostly undamaged, and might well guess the danger.

Timas had been so careful when he told Bryant what to do - what he would need to do. Timas might not have dared if Bryant weren't blue; might have tried something else ... but ... it could work. And if it didn't ... well, he'd certainly never get another opportunity, not when his Masters knew how he'd defied them. He'd never have another chance; their orders would be brutally clear, they would quiz him on his understanding of them; seal any caveats he might have. Timas remained motionless, subservient, obediently waiting on General Januisz's convenience, but inside he shuddered in horror at the thought.

What did they matter, his small defiances and tiny rebellions, if he never used them at all? How would that be different from continuing as he was now, if he never tried for himself? To reclaim his own tiny shred of honor from the monsters he served? Timas honestly could not imagine a better, more likely, scenario than the one that was laid out for him. Perhaps he'd burn his fingers reaching for this prize - but Timas was willing to burn a great deal more than that. If Bryant had understood him, he would be free.

_ Free. _ The word was as bitter as it was inviting in his mind. But Timas had known for a long, long time that there was only one way such as he could ever be free. Soon. He was almost looking forward to it. Free ...

The door opened, and Januisz, dressed in now-wet practice gear, looked at him with a faintly disapproving stare. "What?"

"General Januisz, I regret to inform you that several trainees have somehow escaped ..."

* * *

Bryant paused to consider Timas' words once again, looking for anything that might suggest ... some other course of action, and for the first time in his life, he actually wished, for just a moment, he had been Roan instead of Blue. Maybe Teodor or Dacien or even Chelm would have seen a better solution.

And maybe there simply wasn't another solution. He knew what Timas wanted. He weighed it again; a final time, and came to the same conclusion he'd reached every other time. If only Dacien had been older ... but no. His responsibility was to protect the young bull. He'd failed, at the House of the Lost, and he wouldn't fail again. Dacien would forgive him - eventually. Perhaps the roan would even understand, at some point, why Bryant had chosen as he had. He hoped so. Dacien was ...

Young, Bryant reminded himself. Not even fifty. Too young. But so amazing ... or he had been. It was almost painful watching what had been done to him. Maybe Sasha - Lord Doze - could do something about it, but ... well, it was a possibility, until Lord Doze said otherwise. Maybe Timas had simply suppressed things, instead of erasing them? It would have depended on the wording, Bryant supposed, the wording and how much leeway Timas thought he had.

He should be grateful for what Timas had done, not worrying that the mage hadn't done enough, Bryant reminded himself. He had to assume that Timas had done everything he could, right up to the very limits of the strictures that bound him. So foolish, to bind an air-mage. Or any mage.

Foolish to bind any bull that way, really. Arrogant seemed a poor word to describe these Scyllans. Beyond arrogance.

Because it wasn't arrogance; Bryant realized, or not just arrogance. Both Ebon and Pristine suffered from arrogance, but ... this was more than just that. It was blindness. Beyond Dacien and himself - had there been any bulls who weren't Ebon, or Pristine, or both? It might be that the ninja training was just restricted to those two lineages, and that's why he hadn't seen any others, but ... at the same time, this seemed like exactly what war-lineages would come up. Not a society, a military force, run by officers, and ... perfectly obedient, well-trained warriors. Soldiers, although the ninja were hardly his idea of ideal soldiers. They might be the ideal of a particularly monomaniacal Ebon, though. Xavien would clearly be comfortable with that level of control, although even he'd never brutalize his charges this way. For a moment, Bryant wished he'd asked Hector to include Teovance in the Council Guard, but at the best, it would mean Teovance would be standing where he was, and ... despite his concerns, Bryant wouldn't wish that on any bull whatsoever. And ... even for Mage Dacien's sake, the only better bull that Dacien could have from his Guard might be Hector himself.

Contrafactuals were the proper province of Roan, not Blue. He, Bryant, was here - not Hector, and certainly not Teovance.

* * *

The steel-bound steel double doors leading to the Hall of the Sun dominated the corridor; three stories high, it loomed over the empty galleries and balconies that framed the passage. Bryant led his three ninja up to it, and tested it cautiously. The large door was sealed - Bryant quietly called back that he could see lead between the doors. Fortunately, there was a smaller door in the left side of the portal, sized for a single bull. Bryant tested it, and - with a little effort - forced it open.

"I suspect this means we're moving back into occupied areas," Bryant said, nodding at the seal.

Dacien nodded. The group had traveled a long distance, in what Dacien knew somehow was a circuitous path, but they had seen nothing but abandonment. Dusty passages, hinges that had rusted completely away. More ominously, there was a lack of ... anything living. There were no spiderwebs, and only once had they seen even the shriveled, desiccated remains of what had been a rat. The bones were untouched, completely undisturbed by other scavengers, and both Dacien and Bryant had exchanged a worried glance, but ... really, it didn't matter. Either they were going to succumb to whatever danger had led to the abandonment or not. Whether or not that danger was Xarbydis poisoning was irrelevant.

"Can you sense anything beyond, Mage Dacien?"

Dacien paused. "I ..." and then he shook his head. "No," he said briefly. "Nothing."

* * *

The ambush they walked into an hour later was a tactical surprise. Bryant had expected no less; everything he had learned from Scylla's earlier commando raid on House Green and the ambush at the Xarbydis Door suggested that they would have no warning. One moment, they were walking - carefully - through what appeared to be empty gardens, and the next, twelve ninja - or commandos, as the Scyllans referred to them - were attacking. There was no warning, and the ninja were deep in tempus before anybull could react.

Strategically Bryant had been expecting exactly this scenario, and the only thing that surprised him was how far they'd progressed before encountering it. And given the absolute and near-perfect obedience to orders Scylla installed in their victims, the ninja they'd stolen reacted instantly and immediately to the threat, exactly as Bryant had specified.

Four of them instantly went to protect Dacien and Dusan, and the rest charged their attackers. Dacien would be preventing Timas from working magic, which left Bryant free to find the real threats, Timas and ... the ebon minotaur next to him, who was shouting to everyone to _ stay still _. Bryant wondered if the ebon was surprised in any sense when nobody did; Bryant wasn't.

Apparently the ebon was, since it took him a moment longer than Bryant expected. Or maybe he was just naturally slower than Bryant. It didn't matter to Bryant, and he moved forward even as the ebon did. They had the same short blades - and Bryant gave that advantage to the ebon, since Bryant preferred a hammer himself - but this ebon would first have to be as good in tempus as Bryant to even hope to challenge him. Hector had added Bryant to the Council Guard at the Patriarch's request because, although Bryant had yet to master any of a Grandmaster's tricks, Bryant was as deep a tempus master as anyone in Lycaili. He slipped into time like an eel moving into water; the faint, faint ripple of disturbed time vanishing against the greater disturbance of the ninjas forcing their way to accelerated time.

Bryant had no need to force time. No blue did; it parted for him quietly like liquid silk. Lesser bulls - and even ebon and pristine were lesser in this respect - could learn this kind of skill, could achieve this level of perfect mastery, but it took years of practice, concentration, and learning. For Bryant, it simply was. In a way, he was almost ashamed of that. Milos' mastery had been awarded to him for nothing less than achieving what he, Bryant, could do, and it had taken Milos nearly a century to come to that skill. Kanail had required almost thirty years. Even the redoubtable Chelm had taken that long.

Bryant would never accept the title of Mastery for what was as easy as him as breathing. Perhaps, someday, when he'd mastered the techniques and tools of Mastery and Grandmastery - perhaps, but Bryant knew that he would master them with ease, and it still seemed like a cheat to him. That was why he labored so long to master the arms and weapons and fighting techniques - those could challenge him. Those, he could point to, and claim as an achievement; a truer form of mastery than mere possession of the perfect tempus control bestowed on every blue minotaur.

And the ebon facing him entered time with exactly the same skill, far more gracefully than the ninja puppets around him. There was no give on the ebon's face, nothing but the stare of a focused warrior, and both of them raced into the streams of time, looking for a faster moment, a quicker passage, a deeper rush into the infinite depths. The ebon's training and skill brought him to Bryant's level of competence.

Almost. Almost.

Bryant had perhaps a single heartbeat advantage, and the ebon's skill with the shortblade was making a fight that should last a thousandth part of a heartbeat last ... five thousandths until Bryant twisted past the ebon's defense and put the blade through his neck.

The snap of the ebon's return to normal time sent a minor shock through time; but the deeper one has reached, the more profound the shock, and all the ninja - those opposing Bryant's group, and the ones they'd stolen - were apparently trained to go as deep as they could, and they each had a subjective moment of disorientation. It didn't benefit anyone, really, except for Bryant.

He seized the moment of confusion to slip past the ninja guarding Timas, and, in much the same way as he had with the ebon, he punched his blade up under the mage's ribs and pulled it out to face the two ninja defenders - Byrant had hoped that they'd be confused and disoriented by the mage's death, but either they didn't realize that Timas was dead, or it didn't matter to them.

And a moment later Bryant understood just why everyone had been so afraid of them. The two were easily faster than he was, and worse - they fought together; something Bryant had thought impossible. But it was possible, and it was like fighting a faster, more skilled opponent with four arms - there was no way he could defend himself and they disarmed him almost effortlessly.

Only to face the other ninja. The ninja Dacien had stolen weren't as good, but they were nearly as fast, and there were more of them as Bryant watched the events play out helplessly.

Eight hybrids were dead, either laying on the floor or in the process of falling - and they were all moving so quickly that even Bryant couldn't differentiate them. But four of the remaining were fighting to protect Dacien and Dusan, and another two engaged the ninja that had disarmed him. Bryant started moving to retrieve his sword, but ... one, and then another of the opposing ninja took deathblows, and what had been a fragile balance tilted decisively in the escapees' favor. Less than a thousandth heartbeat later, the remaining opposing hybrids were likewise dead, and Dacien was just starting to run over to Timas.

And Dacien slipped, just a little into time, maybe as deep as three heartbeats to two, catching the hybrid mage before he could fall, with the other slain ninja, to the ground. Bryant moved closer, wary - just because Timas had taken a deathblow did not mean he was dead. That was inevitable, but Timas was still looking out of his own eyes as Dacien caught him. Timas twitched, and a thin trickle of blood ran out of his mouth. There was a breath - nothing recognizable as words - and then what had been Timas was just another dead blanc marque noir.

Dacien let the body down to the ground gently, and turned to Bryant. "I was countering his magic."

Bryant nodded. "I know."

"We could have ..." and then Dacien stopped. He looked down at the body. "We couldn't have, could we?"

"I thought it was too risky," Bryant admitted. "He planned this, Dacien. He made our escape possible - somehow - and I can't imagine what he endured to do it, or what he risked. But part of his plan was ..." Bryant forced himself to continue. "... his own death. I don't know why he planned it that way, but I decided I would trust him."

Dacien nodded. "Do ... do we leave him here? Shouldn't there be a pyre?"

Bryant shook his head. "He deserves that, yes, but ... we cannot waste the opportunity he's created for us. Presumably they know we're loose, and we can expect more ..." He looked at their own surviving ninja. "We can't give, ah, Orange, Yellow, or Apple the pyres they deserve either."

Dacien spun around, and a terrible expression crossed his face as he realized that three of their own were dead in the battle. "We ..." and then he shook his head. "You're right," Dacien said tightly. "We have no time to waste. You're right. We have to get out of here ..." and then he pointed. "That way."

Dacien's sense of magic led them to the exit: another artificial border, a wide stone arch of roughly mortared blocks in a huge garden filled with beds of blooming jasmine, sage, and rosemary. If the herbs had been lavender, it would have matched the portal to Xarbydis at the House of the Lost; as it was, it was still disturbingly similar. The two ninja guards standing at the portal, though, suggested that the portal led somewhere more useful; to the best of Bryant's knowledge, there were no remaining portals or direct borders connected to Xarbydis. Mages had closed them, to stop the constant leak of poison. The only remaining border was that last portal at the House, and even that ... only opened for a few moments at a time.

This one just looked like that portal, or so Bryant told himself.

Taking the portal was ... easier and harder than Byrant expected. Easier, in that his simple plan to walk up to it and the two guards worked perfectly. There was really no way he thought he could sneak up to them; so he'd decided to just ... walk up to them. That was easy, and Dacien seemed more than relieved at not having to enspell them.

And then he, Apple, and Green jumped them.

They reacted faster than he'd dreamed possible - fast enough that Bryant had to launch himself backwards to avoid being cut. Apple and Green, though, reacted with the same supernal speed, and the time they'd used to go after him cost them the encounter - and their lives. The blue glanced behind him, looking at Dacien, but saying nothing. The ninja were too dangerous. From this point on, Bryant decided, he'd have Dacien put them to sleep. From the set expression on Dacien's face, he doubted the mage would continue to resist.

Bryant took a moment to compose himself, so he could ask without the desperation he felt making its way into his voice. "Can you open the portal, Mage Dacien?"

"I ..." and the roan mage was quiet for a moment.

* * *

"Can you open the portal, Mage Dacien?" Bryant asked, sounding oddly calm.

Dacien dragged his attention away from the spreading red stain on the two ninja laid out messily on the herb bed, and tried to put them out of mind. "I will find out," he said, examining the gate. "How do these usually open?"

"It varies," Bryant said. "A key. A touch on the stone. A short ritual. Some open and close at given times."

Dacien stared at the stone arch; he could tell there was magic, could see the potential buried in the stone, but ... he didn't see how to bring it to life. Memories surfaced, and he tried feeding magic into the potential, but ... nothing happened.

After a few minutes, Dusan spoke up hesitantly. "I think ..."

"Yes?" asked Bryant.

"The keystone, and the foundation stones. From left to right. Although ..." and the pristine minotaur was silent. "I don't know if that memory applies to this."

"It's worth trying," Bryant said, and he tapped the stones lightly in that order.

Potential flared to active in Dacien's senses ... "It's open," he said, although it didn't look changed.

"Follow me through ... Red, Pear, Kiwi come with me. Give me a few seconds to make sure it's secure." Bryant stepped up to the portal, and stepped through. He faded as he passed through it, like a shadow dispersed by the sun, and the three ninja stepped through after him.

Passing through it was ... different than the Xarbydis portal had been. As one stepped through that portal, the rocks and sterile crusted earth of the wasteland became visible - almost a warning, if one had chosen to back away.

This one revealed nothing, and passing through it was a shock - although Dacien couldn't define what the shock was. Certainly, he didn't expect to stumble out into a carefully manicured garden, between a pair of stone fountains in the shape of minotaur holding huge fish that spurted water high into the air, where it fell, several feet away, into huge stone catchbasins supported by carved turtles. He lurched out of the way, just as their last three ninja followed him.

"This ... is not safety," Bryant said tensely. "This is a formal garden, and I would have to suspect that whoever lives here knows about this gateway."

Dacien looked at the fountains. All the small gates he'd ever seen had ... "The arch of the water frames the portal," he said, understanding.

"Yes," Bryant said. "That keeps from looking like a portal, doesn't it?"

"It does," agreed Dacien. "I'm not an expert on these things, but ... doesn't the portal have to be framed?"

"Yes," said Bryant. "Or so I believe."

"So if something unfortunate were to happen to the fountains..."

"Do you know," said Bryant thoughtfully. "I had not considered vandalism. But ... it would delay pursuit, if something happened to it. It would require repair, by an earth mage, or ..." he paused. "It could be rebuilt, I understand. That would be a ritual requiring several months of preparation, done here and on the other side."

Dacien slammed his sword into the fountain, shattering the water spout, and after a couple of blows, the water was trickling down the fountain, and pooling at the base. "That should do it," said Dacien. "But where are we?"

"I have no idea," Bryant answered, looking around. "I don't even know what time it is. This is a garden, obviously, so some kind of country house, somewhere - like Mistingrise. I doubt we're in Lycaili, but ... well. We could be anywhere, but ... I'm guessing we're within two to three borders from the House of the Lost. It could be much further. At least we can be pretty sure we're in minotaur lands," he said, gesturing to the statue." The blue minotaur gazed up at the sky for a moment. "I'm thinking, morning. It's cool, sun isn't quite overhead yet, still a little dampness ... what do you think?"

Dusan shook his head. "I don't trust my thoughts. It sounds right, though."

"We'll know in an hour or two," Dacien said. "I think you're right, though. It does sort of feel like morning. I'm not sure I see the importance, though."

"Nothing critical, just ... most houses are designed so that breakfast looks over the front of the estate, and dinner in the back, so if it's morning - which I think it is, then the house is probably to our east. Now, this house is probably ..." Bryant paused for a moment, thinking. "This portal is most likely pre-Scylla. So ... then, it would have been secret and isolated, but on ... a country property of some kind. Still ... I don't know. I could make a case for either truly isolated, or a few miles out of a city."

"Why?"

"Mage Dacien, we can either attack and then escape, or simply attempt to escape, leaving an unknown danger behind us," Bryant said. "If we can find assistance, I'd rather we attempt escape. Every moment of lead time increases the chance we can get out."

"Then we'll do that," said Dacien. "If we go around the house, though, won't we find the way to the road?"

"Yes," said Bryant. "Yes we would ..." he thought for a moment. "We will do that," he decided. "We'll go around the house, if we can."

* * *

Lycaili Hall in the Patriarch's Residence was huge, but the senior minotaurs of Clan Lycaili nearly filled it to welcome the Imperial Emissary with appropriate ceremony. Fifty-three warriors of the Imperial Household - twenty-five ebon and twenty-five pristine accompanied by two blue Imperial Housemasters led by the violet General Yasutoshi of the Imperial Household - accompanied the indigo Imperial Herald Kedira, and the as-yet unidentified Imperial Emissary, who wore an extremely traditional crimson silk yaju shroud, embroidered with an elaborate pattern of black-and-silver imperial dragons and gold crysanthemums. Even his horns were obscured with several long trailing veils of the same heavily embroidered silk.

The Housemasters wore formal silk garments, as well; not the shrouding yaju, but a looser and far less concealing undershirt, shirt, overshirt, undercoat, coat, and overcoat in different shades of blue; the undershirt a pastel sky-blue, darkening to the midnight blue overcoat embroidered with a single gold Imperial Dragon surrounded by odd flying animals that Teodor didn't recognize. Fortunately, as a mage, Teodor had ... advantages.

As Imperial Herald Kedira spoke on, reciting the lineage and glorious achievements of Wataru Nobunaga Gozreh, Teodor finally decided to ask. Sasha? What are those things on the housemasters around the dragon? On the overcoat?

A long moment later, General Zachiah says they're foo lions.

Ask a silly question ... Teodor said back.

Just for completeness, the layer under the foo lions lacks the Imperial Dragon, and is embroidered with foo dogs, and Sasha sent an image to Teodor. Or so Zachiah remembers them. Under the foo dogs are nightingales. Under the nightingales are nine-tailed foxes, and under the foxes are fantastically colored carp, which represent the wearer's sexual exploits.

_ What? _

The size - from tip to tail - represents the, ah, length of the partner's member; the coloration of the carp is supposedly precise enough to identify the bull represented. The position of the carp represents the nature of the physical relationship - and it's surprisingly detailed. Zachiah doesn't know what all the positions are, but there are apparently well over a hundred of them. Fortunately these garments are only worn formally.

Good, said Teodor, rather bemusedly. Are the other creatures representative of similar things?

Yes. Achievements, awards, Imperial Notice - that sort of thing. One is entitled to a foo dog each time the Emperor presents his compliments.

At least they're only worn formally.

Yes, but ... there are no informal occasions where the Emperor meets with anyone other than his immediate family and slaves. Being stripped of one's robes at court is one of the more obscure rebukes the Emperor can deliver. Or the Emperor can bestow new robes. That can even be part of the rebuke. It's all ... very traditional, and very formal.

Tedious. Endlessly tedious. I don't recall Cresphontes having to stand through one of these events. How are we doing? What does General Un think of our presentation?

Nearly the entire Lycaili's Patriarch's Guard was present, of course, bolstered by the warriors in the various mage's guards, the senior members of the Lycaili City Guard, and all of the Generals presently in the Lycaili Maze, and General Un, as the hastily appointed Master of Protocol, had been responsible for the Lycaili reception of the Imperial Delegation.

He's dissatisfied, but then, this delegation descended almost unannounced. Given that we had only a week of warning, he feels we're acceptable, but no more.

It is not a failing I will task him for, Teodor replied. It is sufficient. Although I trust I cherish the veneer of civilization that formality bids us to, everything can be taken to extremes. And this is ... extreme_._

You think so, Sasha replied with amusement. You're good at picking up emotion, if not thought. Look around you.

I prefer to keep my shielding up. It would be exceptionally embarrassing if it were more than I could take.

I will personally guarantee that doesn't happen, Sasha said.

Teodor didn't send words, just a quizzical sense of astonished curiosity, and then he cautiously thinned the barriers he habitually wore.

Thinned them some more.

Thinned them to the point where they might as well not exist; and reached ...

Calm.

The only thing he sensed was a calm, peaceful serenity. Even General Un - whom Teodor had expected to be frantic over the unfolding event felt nothing more than a gentle wariness.

What in Creation is that_?_ Teodor shot to Sasha. Is this something you're doing?

No, Sasha said. Not my doing. Even my signature isn't touching them.

Whose doing? Is this some kind of ... no, that doesn't make sense. But if it's not an attack, what is it?

You haven't noticed?

Noticed what?

You're not affected.

_ No _, and the word was heavy with irony.

Nor your cousins. Nor Milos. Nor Aikros. Nor myself.

I am ... I am not good enough to sense the who or what, Sasha, and certainly not when they're in the back of the hall, with all of those - entranced? would you say - bulls between them and me. Your mind-magic is far superior to mine.

I do beg your forgiveness, Sasha sent apologetically. You'll have to take my word for it - they're quite as bored as we are. But all of the highblood, excepting your roan cousins, are in ... I don't know what to call it other than that pleasant wellness one feels after particularly excellent sex. I think it's exactly the same thing, actually.

But ... how ...

I didn't notice it until the first hour, although I presume it was there. And it's just gotten stronger since.

But what is it?

I think it's a reaction to the presentation rituals, Sasha sent with an overlay of uncertainty-doubt.

Could it be ritual magic of some kind?

Perhaps ... Sasha said cautiously. I do not know. I'm not a magician, and I forgot most of what I learned in college. But this doesn't seem like anything I learned there.

No ... thought Teodor. Nothing about it seems familiar to me, either, although I hardly claim to have even as much training as you did. But if this be ritual magic, then it's an entirely different sort than anything we practice. And why would it only affect the highbloods? And why not roan? Roan is highblood ... or so we say. You say it took an hour for you to notice this?

Yes.

We - Lycaili, I mean - don't have a lot of long rituals. I wonder ... Sasha, when you go to the symphony, does the music produce a similar effect?

Not that ... well, I wouldn't notice, would I, in my shielded box.

Perhaps not, Teodor said. But ...

But?

But now I have something to keep my interest, Teodor said. I wonder just how deep this - this - state can go.

We're only on the twenty-seventh - Sasha paused as Wataru bowed to Teodor, Teodor returned the bow, and the Imperial Herald summoned Shansa Oda Oodaku forward for his introduction - pardon me, the twenty-eighth - warrior. I say it gets deeper.

I ... well, I'm not betting against you. I have to admit, I'm rather ... enjoying it myself.

_ You? _ came the amazed thought. You're not affected.

No, but I can enjoy the ... serenity, call it, of those around me. It's very soothing. And it's not as if I can go anywhere until this is over. It will be over when they introduce the Imperial Emissary?

Possibly ... that's probably when the Emissary will present you with a scroll bearing the Emperor's message. You'll have a few days to read it, and respond - with another scroll, which will be presented in another long formal event where you thank the Emissary and his guard for conveying the Emperor's words, and returning your own response - which you will deprecate as too hastily penned.

Joy unbounded, Teodor said.

Oh, there's a reason for that. If your reply is hasty, it cannot be criticized, Sasha said promptly. All shortcomings of phrasing and appearance may be assumed to be to simply your desire to respond promptly to the Emperor.

Useful fiction, an Emperor.

It's kept the Nippon clans peaceful.

Useful fiction, an Emperor, Teodor repeated. Perhaps we should appoint one. The negotiations around it would keep everyone buzzing and busy for decades.

Sasha smothered a laugh, and then became serious again. There's one more thing.

Yes?

Past Emperors have skinned bulls, and sent their ...

_ That's revolting! _

Well, yes. I've never heard of Emperor Dyson doing that, but then ... we don't have a lot of agents in the Nippon clans. There's hardly any point. But I did want to warn you.

I would have preferred an earlier warning, Sasha.

General Zachiah suggested this was a detail that could properly wait for the last minute, Sasha said. Was he wrong?

Probably ... not, admitted Teodor. There's no expectation that I have to -

- no, Sasha responded quickly. Paper will do.

Not the finest paper possible, watermarked with our clan sigils, the edges gilded, with crushed jewels for ink?

I don't suppose it would hurt, said Sasha, but ... no.

We ought, I suppose, have special flax fields watered with the blood of - no, no, the seed of virgins, from which to make the paper, Teodor continued.

Virgins? We have virgins?

Pish, sent Teodor. Inked with a solid gold pen. Sealed with a cord woven from ...

I can scarcely imagine, Sasha said. Seriously, though.

You still have no idea what this note is about?

No. I have listened to them most carefully, and all I know is that the Emperor personally charged each and every guard with the Emissary's safety. But none of them seem to know who the Emissary is.

How strange. Not even the officers or heralds?

They have quiet minds, Sasha replied. I would need to go beyond the usual strictures. This time, the thought added the sense of Sashas' strong concurrence with those limitations. It might be that they know, but they don't discuss it, or even guess where our servants - and my agents came as an underlying thought - can hear. Their discipline is ...

What one would expect from a guard hand-picked from the best of the best of all the Nippon clans, Teodor said.

Yes. And so nicely color-coordinated.

A rebuke to us, you think?

I ... and Sasha fell silent, thinking. His response wasn't in words, but a more complex thought of his own experiences with the more caste-conscious clans, and that the Emperor's delegations were usually this carefully chosen; the Emperor would have known that it might seem a comment on the West's freer traditions, but that not doing so would also seem like a comment, and that to do anything else would have been read as a sterner commentary.

Teodor digested the facts, arguments, and conclusions in a moment, and sent back a simple agreement.

Another guard marched up for presentation. Merely twenty-one more to go, Sasha's sigh came to him.

It could be worse; we could be fighting them, Teodor pointed out.

* * *

Sneaking around the house turned out to be easier than Bryant had expected; the gardens were deserted, and avoiding the three human gardeners took almost no effort at all; of all the bulls, only Dacien couldn't use tempus to pass them. But they were focused on their work, and even if Dacien couldn't blur his outline or move with impossible tempus speed from concealment to concealment - Dacien hadn't needed to. He might have been able to stroll past in full armor, for all the attention the gardeners spared from their plantings.

But their task was watering, weeding, pruning ... not to keep a watch on the hedges and decorative plantings that screened the house from the wood, and certainly not to keep an eye on the wide drive that to the house from the road.

Or, from the hedges to the road.

The road to the house had been paved with rough, interlocking stones, but the driveway did have a plaque at the gate, announcing this to be the Thousand Iris Place; but that gave Bryant no clues about where they were, and there was no helpful signpost to point a way to a city. Just the road, the drive to Thousand Iris Place, and across the road a low wall leading into a field planted with tall ... rye, Bryant thought. That argued, again, for the western lands, but rye was hardly a unique crop.

The hard cement blocks of the road showed a little wear - not much, and certainly not in a preferential direction, providing not even a hint to the perplexing conundrum before him. Bryant stifled a laugh. Seventy-odd years of training, schooling, and what was the first question to truly challenge him?

Left, or right?

The road itself gave no clue; the gate offered no help, and the rye grass swaying in the fields was unhelpful. Maybe Dacien ... no, Dacien and Dusan would know no more than he did. Those poor mindfucked ninja couldn't know ... "East," Bryant said confidently, as if that were somehow a better word than right. The sun was high enough to be out of their eyes until it passed behind them after noon, and that was as good a guess as left. The road had to go somewhere, after all.

The rye gave way to an apple orchard heavy with small, green, unripe apples, which was followed by nut trees - walnuts, Bryant thought, which was followed by trees Dacien recognized as apricots, and then to a field of low, leafy plants with huge dark almost-black leaves ridged with red. Bryant had no idea what they were, but - finally, finally! - there were workers in the field - six humans, and a brown overseer.

Bryant stopped the group at the edge of the apricots, and then Bryant hesitated for just a moment too long.

"I think ... Bryant, can you fetch that bull over here?" Dacien asked.

The mage might have phrased it as a question, but it was clearly an order. Still ...

"Is that wise?"

"I ... I didn't see any bulls other than pristine or ebon, back there. Not a one," Dacien said. "I think it was too secret, even if they had any. So ..."

Bryant nodded, following the reasoning. "Yes, Mage Dacien. I ... I'll ask him to come over here."

Dacien nodded.

Bryant took a breath, and eased himself into time - or out of time, as some would have it. To Bryant, it was a meaningless question; all that mattered was that he was no longer moving along at the pace of everything else, but ... different. Different. The world slowed, the colors shifted darker, and everything sped up around him as he slowed himself to the first stable point ... where he could no longer be seen; half-there, half-not, and he set off across the field. It felt like a minute, but Bryant knew it was more like ten or fifteen by the time he reached the smaller brown.

He eased himself back into the normal flows of time, behind the bull, who was - interestingly - working pretty much exactly the way the humans were, scattered across the field, and crouched down by the plants. The humans were unlikely to notice him ...

"Pardon me," he said, and the brown spun around to face him - spade in hand, Bryant noticed approvingly.

"Who ..."

"My master requests a moment of your time," Bryant said politely, and added the honorific, "sir."

The brown paused. "I am Nils Leviathan, in the service of Guildmaster Iudas."

Leviathan meant something to Bryant; the clan lay beyond Ungoliant, and Leviathan Maze was a major seaport to the east. Guildmaster Iudas, on the other hand, meant nothing. And of course Nil's introduction of himself was a polite way of asking the same, in return.

But ...

"My Master will make the introductions he thinks best," Bryant said, a half-apology, but Dacien seemed to have something in mind. "I beg your forgiveness, but ... the matter requires some discretion. Nothing dishonorable."

"I wouldn't ... of course not," Nils replied, sounding a little surprised. "And ... yes, of course. I would be honored to meet your Master ... is he at the house?"

"He is waiting at the edge of the orchard," and Bryant nodded towards the apricot trees.

* * *

The introduction of the final warlord complete, the Herald motioned for the Emissary to come forward and Teodor suppressed a sigh of relief. It wouldn't do, after all, for the Patriarch of Lycaili to sigh or murmur or do anything, really, that would compromise the grand majesty of the Imperial Delegation.

Teodor could even agree with that in theory. In practice, it wasn't physically demanding - a mage might have to stand for hours, working complex magic, and since Teodor wasn't working magic, he was free to use that same magic to keep himself comfortable as he stood motionless. But it was hard to see the point in spending hours welcoming someone who was, when all was said and done, simply a postal courier.

Still, the peculiar relaxation that had come over the other high-bloods was worth experiencing. Teodor felt ... more himself, in that peace, than he had since he'd had to leave Mistingrise. If it wasn't just something the Imperials had done, somehow, perhaps he could incorporate it into his own court. Somehow. It would make life ... easier, if he didn't have to shield himself so thoroughly, all the time. Perhaps the Herald would be willing to discuss it.

The Emissary came forward and Teodor waited, expecting a scroll or a box or ...

He hadn't expected the Emissary to simply raise his arms, as if ... Sasha? What is this? Teodor asked as General Yasutoshi and Herald Kadira turned to the Emissary, bowed, and began -

It looked for all the world as if they were unwrapping him, unwinding the gold-embroidered red silk from his horns, which were polished and wound round with a fine gold chain.

I don't know, Sasha replied. General Un doesn't know. Well, he doesn't know exactly_. But this is the point where they give you the Emperor's message - so presumably, the Emissary himself is the message. Or part of it._

Do any of the Generals know? Is there any precedent for this?

Sasha's reply was uncertain. Do you want me to ...

I want to you to ask, of course. That's all.

It will take ...

Yes, yes.

As the yuja slipped off the Emissary, it revealed the dark, midnight-purple pelt of an indigo bull, who wore nothing under the yaju. The herald motioned, and the senior pristine warlord - Ulo Belesarius Gozreh, according to the long introduction - stepped forward, bearing a fundoshi. The herald folded it quickly and efficiently around the Emissary's waist, even as the senior ebon warlord - Hajima Patton Baragon - stepped forward with carp-embroidered in dark black against an undershirt of pale lavender, and then Ulo was back with a lavender shirt with silver foxes.

Even as the Herald slipped that in place, Hajima presented him - as Teodor was expecting - a darker shirt with yellow birds against a distinctly purple overshirt, and Ulo returned with the first undercoat - a darker purple garment with creamy wide-mouthed dogs -

Foo dogs? asked Teodor.

Yes. None of the Generals are sure what this variant means, but it reminds General Rierdes of a betrothal ceremony.

Teodor sent an alarmed response back to Sasha. You don't think ...

Rierdes doesn't think so, just ... that's what this reminds him of.

The Foo Lions (in pale blue against a dark indigo) looked more like what Teodor thought a lion should look like, but when the Herald unrolled the overcoat, it was midnight-black, and embroidered with ... eleven golden Imperial Dragons, interspersed with yellow-and-silver crysanthemum blossoms.

Sasha, what do the multiple dragons mean?

The Imperial Emissary took one step forward and turned ever so slightly to the Herald, who bowed deeply to him, and then repeated the bow to Teodor.

Sasha?

"Patriarch Teodor Caravaggio Lycaili, I have the honor to present to you His Imperial Highness, Lord of the Sea, Crown Prince of Nippon, Noroma Newton Oto!" the Herald announced. "He speaks with the voice of his father, His Imperial Majesty Emperor Hideyushi Newton Oto."

_ Sasha! _

* * *

The brown minotaur looked slightly startled at Dacien's appearance, but he seemed to take it in stride as he stepped into the cool shade of the trees. He glanced at the group, and then paused. "Forgive me," he said, "but a warlord said ... you wanted to talk with me?"

"Yes," said Dacien. "If you please."

"If I please," the brown said. "I am here. What ... what do you want with me?"

"I beg your ... indulgence, for a moment," Dacien said quietly. "I - all of us - are lost. We do not know where we are, what clan - or clans - claim these lands."

"That is ... well. I would love to know the story behind that, but please know you are in the northern reaches of Leviathan; Leviathan Labyrinth lies some twenty miles south and west of us," the brown minotaur said. "I am Nils Leviathan, and ... I welcome you to the lands of my employer, Guildmaster Iudas."

Dacien nodded. "I am Dacien Lycaili, and ... I ... I beg your forgiveness, but that means nothing to me. Bryant, the warlord who asked you to come here, will probably know, but I am - I think I am - Dacien Lycaili, and I have escaped ... well, I am not entirely sure what I have escaped, but I am afraid it follows me."

Nils looked almost involuntarily down the road.

"My ... my mentor once told me, that if I were ever to find myself in ... well, difficulty, I suppose, I could ask practically any minotaur for assistance, for help, for sanctuary - that is was simply the obligation of the strong to care for those weaker than themselves."

Nils nodded.

"Nils Leviathan," Dacien said, "I was kidnapped by ... well, I'm not entirely sure, but they were no friends to Lycaili, or to me. I am lost - I have no monies, I have no food, I have no knowledge of how to return to Lycaili from here - I can only ask you for your assistance, your help, and sanctuary from those who took me. If ..."

"You are asking me? For ..." and Nils paused. "I ... I fear my protection is a small thing, but for what it is worth, you have it. But ... the protection of my employer, the Guildmaster, is no small thing, Dacien, and ... I will ask him for you, on your behalf, and mine as well." Nils considered for a moment. "There's a threshing barn across the fields - that way," he gestured with his hand. "I don't think you can miss it, and it's empty - mostly empty. There's some hay stored there. But ... you can shelter there while I go find ..." he paused. "Not the Guildmaster, but ... his cousin. Dellios. He really runs the estate. And we'll talk to the Guildmaster." Nils paused. "You really ..."

"I really ... what?"

"You really asked me," Nils said.

"Yes," Dacien said.

The brown minotaur studied Dacien for a moment, turned to look at Bryant, who had cleched his muzzle shut while Dacien was talking. Looked back at Dacien. "You asked ... me. Why?"

"Because ... you were watching your humans," Dacien said. "It ... reminded me, of what my - mentor said. Because ... because I need help. If ... you can supply it."

Nils tilted his head back, and then made a short bow. "If I can, I will. Go through the fields to the barn, and ... I'll bring Dellios and the Guildmaster. I can promise nothing more than that but ..." the brown stopped talking suddenly, and then resumed. "But that, that I can deliver."

"Thank you," said Dacien. "It's ... not sufficient, but ... thank you."

Nils started to say something, and then shook his head. "We can talk later, Dacien Lycaili. Go to the barn."

"We will," Bryant said. "And, Nils Leviathan, I thank you, too."

Nils gave a short laugh. "You are welcome, Dacien and ..." he looked at Bryant. "And yourself, warlord."

* * *

"Lord Teodor," said the Crown Prince. "I greet you in the name of my father, and convey our condolences, first, on the loss of your son Dacien, and the loss of your predecessor, Lord Cresphontes. Although I did not know him personally, Lord Cresphontes was considered a wise and capable leader by all who spoke of him at the Imperial Palace."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Teodor said, after a quick mental consultation with Sasha and General Un on the proper modes of address. "The losses, one after the other, were ... grievous."

"I also carry his congratulations on your ascension," the indigo bull said. "And my own. You are the first of your family to hold such a lordship."

"That ..." Teodor stopped himself, conjured the formal phrases. "I am, Your Highness. I thank you, and I thank His Majesty for his notice and his compliments. To send you this distance, accompanied by -" and Teodor took a slight pleasure in repeating back the names and titles of the fifty-odd accompanying bulls - "is truly an an unexpected honor for our small Clan. We have never previously had the pleasure of hosting any Imperial representative."

"We serve," the Prince murmured. "Both of us; we serve. I have some private words for you from His Majesty. If we could have privacy for a few ..."

"Privacy, of course ..." Teodor could have - and probably should have - asked Lord Chimes to supply the spell, but ... he conjured an opaque bubble of fog that would swallow sound. "And so we are private, Your Highness."

The indigo bull nodded. "Thank you, Lord Teodor. I am used to ... a less formal conversation, in private. Although I always wonder if the mage can listen in."

"The mage can; whether he does or not is ... a question. But in this case, I have provided the shell of privacy. No one but you and I will ever be sure of our words together, Your Highness."

"Please, call me Noro."

Teodor nodded. "For this conversation, certainly, if you will call me Te."

"Te? So short?"

Teodor let a faint smile - the very first expression he'd permitted himself - to cross his muzzle. "I have an older cousin Teovance, who is Teo."

"Te, my Father sent me because our Clans appealed to him. Emperor Irikai, Oto the fourteenth, signed the Xarbydis treaties on behalf of the Clans, and ... your declaration alarms them." The indigo bull sighed. "It alarmed the Emperor. He journeyed to Xarbydis, in his youth. I've been there myself. And even I ... am alarmed. Why would you declare your intent to ignore them?"

"Because I do not want Lycaili to be the next Xarbydis," Teodor said. "The assassins who struck down Cresphontes call themselves Scyllans, Noro."

"Nobody would be so crass as to cast doubt on your assertion - but few believe it."

"Believe - what? That these foes call themselves Scyllans? That they are Scyllans? That we have been attacked three times now by ninjas?"

"You must admit it is a fantastic tale," the prince said quietly.

"I do not know if they are Scyllans, but I know they call themselves so," said Teodor. "And I know they have ninja. And I know we have been attacked. It is true that I do not know that all three attacks were from the same agency - but to imagine more than one group attacking us in such a way seems ... unlikely."

"I would like to see your evidence," the prince said. "I would like nothing more than to report to my Father that everything you have said is clearly so."

"Evidence," said Teodor. "Well. Some of it is gained ... clandestinely, and I would not share those sources. More of it is gained by mages. Yet more of it is confidential. What do you expect?"

"I ... I did not expect differently, but I had hoped you'd have something," the prince admitted. "But most perplexing of all is your declaration that the Truces will not hold you back in your own defense! Why? What possible good can the war spells do you in defense?"

"None," said Teodor. "Nor do I intend to use them."

"Then why?"

Teodor looked at the prince for a moment. "I will tell you something, in confidence, that you may relay to your Imperial Master, and to an Imperial Crown Prince, and no others, if that limitation is acceptable to you."

"It is not," the prince said instantly.

"As you wish."

"You do not understand. I ... cannot commit my father to such a pledge. But I will accept it for myself - and I will hold it from my father, if he will not accept it. But I cannot pledge the Emperor's acquiescence to anything for which I do not have his permission. I am not my father's plenipotentiary."

"I understand - and that will suffice for me." Teodor said. "The Truces do not ban only war-spells, they also ban magic in combat. Mage-worked weapons."

"Yes," the prince said cautiously.

"Mage-worked steel weapons are effective against ninja," Teodor said. "They are trained and conditioned harshly - so harshly, that they have lost the ability to adapt, or it has been removed from them, I don't know precisely. That's how Lord Xavien defeated the ninja who attacked Cresphontes - he enhanced his sword to slice through theirs. He could not defeat their speed - they were faster than he was - and he's as fast as any tempus master might hope to be - but they could not break themselves out of the conditioned responses to swordwork - and so they fell, when the blocks and parries they had learned ceased to work.

"But, Noro, that advantage - the only one we possess over these ninja strikes - would be gone if it were public. And so ..."

"We thought as much," the prince said. "Oh, we didn't guess what you were doing, but ... we - my father and I - thought there was some compromise like that going on." The dark purple-blue bull shook his head. "Why didn't you just lie?"

Teodor blinked. "What?"

"Why didn't you just lie?"

"I ..." Teodor narrowed his eyes. "I cannot believe the Imperial Crown Prince is asking me why I didn't perjure myself and my clan."

"Believe it," the prince said.

"Fine. Because I thought the secret would get out eventually, and I didn't wish to be known as a liar," said Teodor. "It's not something I thought would improve Lycaili's reputation. But ... I am ashamed to say I did consider it."

"And if you'd been convinced you could keep it secret?" asked the prince. "Would you have kept it a lie?"

"I decline to answer that question, Prince Noroma."

"That's answer enough," the prince said.

"Is it," Teodor said.

"Yes," the Prince said. "Te, you should have lied."

Teodor's brow creased. "I ..."

"None of the other Patriarchs would have exposed you. All of them have just as much incentive to keep this as quiet as you do. It could have been - should have been - handled very, very quietly and secretly by your Lord Winter - Ianthos. I'm surprised he didn't advise you to do that."

"He wasn't here," said Teodor.

"So your close advisors are all ebon and pristine?"

"Oz - General Osaze is a close advisor, and I have another. But yes, most of them are ebon and pristine."

"Even blue can be..." prince Noroma paused. "It's understandable. But ... sometimes, Lord Teodor Lycaili, you will - as the Patriarch - need to lie. And this is exactly the time and subject where it's preferable to lie."

"May I quote you on that?"

"No," said the prince. "You understand why not."

"I do," Teodor said. "But I hardly see what I can do about it now."

"Don't you?"

"You have a suggestion?"

"I do. Why do you think I came with such production? And why do you think the Emperor sent, of all his sons, the Crown Prince?"

Teodor paused for a moment. "This is not as much fun as I always imagined it would be."

"What? Being Patriarch? You thought that would be fun?"

"No. Talking to someone smarter than I am," said Teodor. "Even if you are trying to be helpful."

"Say, rather, more experienced in politics and perception."

"That's exactly the dodge I use when I'm talking to the painfully slow," Teodor said.

"Then you'll just have to get used to it, I suppose."

"I suppose," said Teodor. "Please. Why did the Emperor send the Crown Prince?"

"Because it gives you cover to change your stance, publicly. To revert to a strict adherence to the Xarbydis Treaties after an appeal from the Emperor." Prince Noroma smiled. "The other Patriarchs will understand, and will play along. It's as much about being willing to play together as anything else."

Teodor nodded at the sudden epiphany. "Part of their anger has been the fear that I might expose similar machinations," Teodor said. "Of course ... some of the messages almost come out and say that ... I feel so blind."

"It's just politics. But then, you didn't have much exposure to politics, I understand?"

"Some," Teodor said. "The Mage's Circle was not without occasional ... liveliness."

"Still, you haven't had experience with generals and guilds and other clans."

"Some," repeated Teodor. "Although I do not think of myself as a politician." He smiled briefly. "I do appreciate your coming all the way out to ... educate me, and provide a convenient reason for me to, ah, adjust my positions."

"Several clans petitioned the Emperor to involve himself," the Prince said. "He did notice that Lycaili has never had an abundance of indigo bloodlines. And it's down to just one, now, I believe. Guildmaster Cedric Feynman Lycaili?"

"I ... believe you're correct, although I would not swear to the bloodline. And ... while we're on the topic, why do you refer to me as Caravaggio rather than Tzara?

"That's what was in my briefing, that you were Teodor Caravaggio. Do you prefer Teodor Tzara?"

"I have never stated a preference, or indeed, that I acknowledged either one," Teodor said.

"Then ... I don't know where that particular bit of lineage came from. But you could claim Caravaggio?"

"Yes," admitted Teodor. "I could. If I cared to. But bloodline has fallen out of favor in Lycaili."

"Then I'm ... oh. Your son Chelm claims that bloodline," the prince said. "I suppose the protocol master assumed that you would be Caravaggio, as you're the only acknowledged sire. Even if you haven't formally claimed it."

"I see," said Teodor.

"And so there is one other little matter ... a matter of the Emperor's favor and desire for better relations here in the west. I should like to make a short, public announcement to that effect, if you don't mind."

"Although I am delighted to have the Emperor's approbation, and would welcome better relations with the Nippon Clans, I don't need either one, and the Nippon Clans are really too far away for us to be anything but benign strangers."

"Still," said the Prince. "As a token of our regard?"

The Patriarch of Lycaili permitted himself a slight, very slight, smile. "I thought you regarded me as a political novice in need of instruction? That may well be the case," Teodor admitted, "but ... it's not something I think I need announced."

Prince Noroma laughed. "I hardly think it will be taken that way. If you're ready to drop your spell of privacy?"

"Yes ..." said Teodor cautiously, and the gray bubble melted away, revealing the Court.

Te?

Everything's fine, Sasha. Although ... we'll need to chat later.

Good, came the relieved reply.

His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Noroma, bowed low to Teodor, and then bowed again. "Your Excellence. My father, the Emperor of Nippon, has sent me as his Emissary to offer to you his son - my brother - His Imperial Highness, Prince Lyo Kelvin Oto, as your consort."

Sasha, Teodor sent over the surprised murmur of the court, What I said earlier? About everything being fine?

Yes?

I may have been mistaken.

After a moment, Sasha replied, I think that may be right.

* * *

The threshing barn was just four walls painted a soft pastel green, with huge central doors on all four walls, and smaller, bull-sized doors at the corners. Bryant scouted the building quickly; the floor was empty save for some baled hay that had yet to be moved up to the loft - or perhaps it had been brought down from the nearly-full hayloft. The light covering of dust from the hay showed no disturbance when Bryant glanced over it, and the hayloft proved to contain nothing but stacks of baled hay. It seemed safe enough.

Seemed.

He led Dacien and the others in, and they got comfortable on the hay and the afternoon light filtering into the barn from the undercut windows meant to allow air and light - but not rain. Odd, really, how much more comfortable it was sitting back on firmly pressed straw than the cell back at Scylla had been.

In any case, they hadn't been there long before one of the small doors opened, and two copper minotaur walked in, followed by a human. One was a deep grass green, and the other a paler shade. Before Bryant could do anything, however, Dacien stood up and bowed respectfully. "You are the Lord of this House?"

"We - my cousin and I, Dellios and Iudas, we are," the deeper green one answered.

"Then I beg you for sanctuary," Dacien said.

"Who - who are you," asked the paler bull. "And ... from what do you seek shelter?"

"That is ... difficult," Dacien admitted. "I think I am Dacien, of Clan Lycaili, but ... I'm no longer sure. And I am running from Scylla, and their mindbender."

The cousins exchanged a troubled look.

"We have ..." started the paler bull.

"Wait, Del," the darker one interrupted. "First, Dacien Lycaili, I am Iudas Leviathan, and this is my cousin, Dellios Leviathan. I have heard stories about what has happened in Lycaili. And there are events you may be unaware of, as well. But ... why do you think you are Dacien? You match the reports I have well enough - and I am guessing this is either Hector or Bryant?"

"Bryant Lycaili," Bryant said. "My cousin Hector ... he was with us, but I do not know what happened to him in the ambush, or how anyone else fared ..."

"I beg your forgiveness," Iudas said. "I know only a little; the reports I've had were not specific and I had no reason to inquire more deeply. I can tell you that Lord Doze, his Master of Guard, his Master of Time, and Chelm survived. I know there were injuries, but I do not know to whom, nor how serious they were. I know there was a white bull taken with you - Kant, but ... I do not see him."

Bryant shook his head. "We don't know what happened to Kant."

"How likely is pursuit?" asked Dellios. "Iudas has but a single warrior here, although both of us are warrior-trained."

Bryant shook his head. "I don't know. We damaged a gate nearby when we crossed into Leviathan, but I have no idea how quickly they'll be able to reopen it."

"We must assume they'll reopen it soon," said Dellios. "I hate to suggest this, but perhaps we should ask for reinforcements."

"Reinforcements?"

"The grandmaster has a school; he will have well-trained warriors to hold off anyone until the Patriarch can deal with this."

"Yes," said Iudas. "He's an ass, but Grandmaster Wolachya will ..."

"Who?" said Dacien. "Grandmaster Wolachya? An ebon?

"Yes. He has a school a mile or so ..." and Iudas paused. "Or ..."

"One of the bulls who kidnapped me was General Wolachya Scylla," said Dacien. "And I think all the Scyllans are tempus masters and grandmasters. And we came out of a concealed passage perhaps five miles from here, near a house ..."

"But ..." said Dellios, and then, "that makes far too much sense, if Grandmaster Wolachya is actually General Wolachya Scylla.

"We can't go to the Patriarch," said Iudas quietly.

"What?"

"We can't go to anyone," Iudas continued. "If Wolachya is a ... spy, traitor, whatever, then it stands to reason there are more of them. Our clan is compromised."

"The Patriarch isn't," said Dellos.

"I don't know that," said Iudas. "Do you?"

"Wait," said Bryant. "How could your Patriarch be compromised? Are you ..."

"This touches my honor," said Iudas. "And the honor of every Leviathan bull. I don't know who I can trust in Leviathan, if I can't trust Wolachya - and from what you have said, I cannot trust him. We need to get them out of Leviathan immediately."

"How?" grunted Dellios. "Let's say - for the sake of the thing - that Lord Nahor isn't compromised, but at least one of his trusted advisers is, to the extent that anything we take to him is exposed."

"That ... seems like the safest assumption," said Iudas.

"So a Scyllan warparty could easily disguise itself as a Leviathan guard troop of some kind."

Iudas' face twisted into an unpleasant scowl. "Again, the conservative assumption."

"Which means we cannot distinguish loyal Leviathan guards from Scyllans."

"Is it so bad?" asked Bryant.

"Probably not," said Dellios.

"But do you want to take that chance?" asked Iudas. "I ..." and the green bull fell silent for a moment. "I admit I kept up with this story, simply because it offended me so deeply. To discover that my clan has been used to advance this vile agenda ..." the bull shook his head angrily. "It shames me."

"My point," said Dellios, "is that the borders may be invested by Scyllans or Scyllan agents. And they are well guarded. We might be able to sneak them out the port ..."

"But that's not useful," Iudas objected.

"No," said Dellios.

Dacien had been watching them, and the human, and said, "You have an idea, though."

"I do," said Iudas. "I trust you have no objection to parsnips?"

"The root cellar, sure," said Dellios, half-agreeing. "But ... we can't keep them there forever."

"We've agreed we can't smuggle them out," Iudas said.

"Ah," said Dellios. "But ..."

"Trust me, Coz. I can make it work."

"Could you explain it to me?" asked Bryant.

"Yes," said Iudas. "Of course."

"On our way to the root cellar," said Dellios. "If you please."