Robert Asprin: Wartorn Obliteration

Very well.

Raven returned her attention to her two distinguished visitors.

"General Weisel," she said, still disturbed by how strange her voice sounded, "I am glad to see you are well. I remember..." But she couldn't remember yet, not quite.

"You remember saving my life?" Weisel filled in, offering her a smile. "You stepped in front of a crossbow bolt meant for me. That was valiant. I shall reward you for it."

Raven tilted her head. Crossbow bolt? Yes. That was right. She had seen it from the corner of her eye, falling toward the general.

She reached again toward the place at the base of her neck.

"There's no wound there, Raven," Weisel said. "That was another body. You'll get used to it. I feel sure you'll develop an appreciation for this new form you're wearing."

"But does that mean...?" she tried to ask, barely able to consider the concept.

"It means," Matokin put in, quietly, "that the body you knew, the physical person you remember as Raven, is no more. But the essence of that being, everything that made her who she was, all of that crucial substance remains. It has been reborn." His dancing eyes settled on her. "You have been resurrected."

Raven started to shake, and then couldn't stop. Her whole body trembled, this new, wonderful but totally alien body. She wasn't herself anymore. She was someone else. Actually she was sharing someone else's body.

Obviously, this was magic. But it was magic of a magnitude that she'd barely suspected. She had traveled through the portals, hurtling across distances in a few steps that would take days to traverse on horseback. And yet, this was even more amazing.

Portals...? The portals! Yes, she remembered now, Weisel's daring and unorthodox plan to use the portals in the invasion of the city-state of Trael. Rather than using those magical portals to transport the army's troops, Weisel's scheme was to simply open them around the target city, allowing whatever creatures dwelt within that otherworldly realm to roam freely into this world, and straight at Trael.

When Raven had been shot—and apparently killed —by that crossbow, Weisel had been on the cusp of giving the final order to open those portals. She didn't know if he'd gone through with the plan.

Raven pulled the blanket tighter around herself. Neither man came forward to physically comfort her, but that would have been unseemly anyway, considering their elevated positions. It didn't even matter that Lord Matokin was her father. Raven was the daughter of one of his retired mistresses, but such a thing might actually carry very little weight. Regardless, she had yet to tell him of her identity.

"Are you all right, my dear?" It was Weisel, peering at her closely.

With an effort of will, Raven brought her shaking under control. "Yes, General. It's just all... a bit of a shock."

Weisel gave her a droll look. "Yes, isn't it just? Well, you'll need a little time to recover. Perhaps, Lord Matokin, since we have this rare opportunity to meet face-to-face, we should discuss the progress of this great Isthmus campaign."

Matokin turned with a look that was just slightly cool. He said, "General, I am satisfied with your very able handling of the Felk army. But that army needs you now. Surely you see that you must return to the field immediately. We have used up critical time seeing to this... indulgence."

Weisel didn't wince. He gave Matokin a hard little smile, glanced again at Raven, and exited the room.

Raven's thoughts and memories were still somewhat jumbled, but things were gradually clearing. She had remembered her spying assignment for Lord Matokin. Now she also remembered what she had learned from Weisel. The general had taken her into his confidence and had told her he suspected that Matokin was deliberately sabotaging the war effort. This was a war of magic, at least in part, and Matokin, the empire's greatest mage, was withholding vital information from Weisel about the army's magical faculties.

Matokin, Weisel claimed, wanted the war to go on indefinitely, so as to keep his position as emperor secure. It was a heinous, treasonous accusation.

It was also something she had never reported to Matokin.

"My Lord?" Her voice had an odd purring quality to it, a kind of casual sensuality that went well with this body.

"What is it?"

"Could you tell me where I am?"

"You're in the city of Felk, in a room of the Palace we had prepared for you. A great deal of effort has been expended in this venture, but General Weisel was very insistent that you be recalled to the living. Still, there's no getting past the unsettling effects of what you've been through."

The general must have transported here via portal magic from the southern part of the Isthmus, where the Felk army was in the field.

"You will adjust to your new condition," Matokin continued. "Recovery will depend on how strong you are, physically and mentally. And how eager you are to resume your work."

"I am very eager, my Lord."

"Good. I want you back at Weisel's side. It may just be that he'll find your new shape a pleasing one. You may in fact become something more than his confidant. Are you prepared for that?"

"I am prepared to serve you any way I can, Lord Matokin."

"Good." Matokin smiled. "I wonder if the general is truly aware that we have the power to snuff out his life any time we choose." He shrugged. "Rest now, Raven." He turned and left the room.

Yes, Raven. Rest some. And I'll tell you about myself.

Raven lay back on the bed, which was very comfortable. Go ahead, Vadya, she said silently to her host. I am listening.

It was a game of dressing up, of make-believe, of playing their roles as surely as actors played theirs on rude creaky stages. In Radstac's judgment she and Deo were currently enacting a farce. But, like most comedies she'd experienced, she didn't think this one especially funny.

She crossed the open ground toward the squad circle, steps measured, unhurried. But not so slow as to draw the interest of a supercilious junior officer looking for a subordinate to reprimand or order about for sport. There were significant differences between serving in a national military, such as this one made up of the Felk and conscripts from the states they had conquered, and serving in a mercenary force, which was Radstac's true element. Mercenaries weren't required to do anything but fight on behalf of their employers. They needn't waste faith on foreign causes, and the code of discipline they adhered to did not include servile fealty. One need only go through the motions of loyalty when one was a mercenary. And what was more, nothing greater than that was expected.

Masquerading as a Felk soldier, however, meant that Radstac had to submit to all manner of affronts, to personal offenses she would not otherwise have tolerated longer than an eye blink. This army's hierarchy, its complex chain of command, was quite annoying. She had thought several times of appropriating an officer's uniform for herself, even if it meant bodily removing that uniform's rightful occupant. But, no. She and Deo needed to maintain a minimal visibility. Going about this huge encampment in the trappings of a typical Felk foot soldier was the smart thing to do.

Radstac wasn't a member of this particular squad, but she slipped casually into the meal line with a tray and waited until she'd reached its head. The squad circle's cook dully scooped out a load of the hot, not particularly appetizing food.

"Put a second portion on top of that," she said quietly.

The young cook blinked, as surprised as if his ladle had started speaking to him. "What?" He sounded utterly mystified.

"Double the portion." Radstac gave him a meaningful gaze from her colorless eyes in her scarred face. It seemed to convince him that the easiest thing to do would be to just dump another share of the stewed meat and vegetables onto her plate and let her be on her way. Which is what he did.