David Drake - The Gods Return

Dysart closed the door firmly behind him, then shot the bolts. Diora hadn't realized her mistress wasn't alone when she greeted her with what many would consider scandalous informality from a maid. She was obviously embarrassed. "I have some papers to go over with Master Dysart," Sharina said nonchalantly. "Set out my nightgown, Diora. And shut the door behind you, if you please." The bedroom was already prepared-of course-but it was a quiet excuse to prevent awkwardness with the spymaster. Dysart probablywas scandalized by Sharina's friendly relationship with her maid, but the chance of him talking to another living soul was less than that the huntsmen and stags painted on the sidewall would. On the other hand, Dysart would refuse to speak in front of Diora however much Sharina said she trusted the maid.

Perhaps he was right. Burne jumped down from the table and padded over to them. "I'm coming up," he warned, then hopped to Sharina's sash for a foothold and finally to her shoulder. "There haven't been any scorpions in the suite all day," he said in a conversational voice.

"I'm not sure whether they're giving up or just planning something more subtle… but for now at least, I think we have privacy."

Dysart waited, watching Diora till the bedroom door thumped shut. He grimaced-whether at the maid or the rat, Sharina couldn't tell-and said, "We're going to raid a gathering of Scorpion worshippers at midnight, your highness. We'll be using men from my own department and a company of soldiers in civilian dress. You'd said you wanted to be kept informed of progress, so-" He shrugged. "-I came to tell you." A servant watching the waterclock in the square outside the palace rang the hour with a mallet and a set of chimes. It lacked a half hour of midnight, which was time enough. "Right," Sharina said. "Master Dysart, send a messenger to Captain Ascor and tell him to report to me immediately. He's to be without equipment and wearing a blue cloak to cover his sword." "Your highness," Dysart said in concern, "Lord Tadai has already provided for soldiers. I don't believe adding Blood Eagles is advisable." "I'm not adding Blood Eagles," Sharina said, tugging at her laces. "I'm-" This wasn't doing any good! She needed help. "Diora, come help me get out of this!" she called. "And bring the Pewle knife!" "Your highness?" said Dysart, his eyes widening. "I'm coming with you, Master Dysart," Sharina said. "And while Captain Ascor won't like it, at least with Lord Attaper's deputy present, I won't have to sneak out of this room to prevent the whole squad on guard from tramping along with me in their full gear!" *** Garric stood within a coarse brushwood fence, watching as Tenoctris examined the dead ratman that they'd brought back to the camp. All the screen did was permit the soldiers not to watch wizardry if it made them uncomfortable-as it did almost all laymen. They'd strapped the corpse to a lance carried by pairs of skirmishers who traded off the burden. Lord Waldron had thought there'd be at least one horse that didn't mind the rats' smell, but he'd apparently been wrong. Master Ainbor-who'd chuckled to be referred to as "Master"-had volunteered that his men wouldn't mind carrying one of the rats they'd killed. He'd been quite obviously twitting Waldron, but Garric-and Waldron, from his sour nod-figured Ainbor had a right to do that. His skirmishers had saved the lives of scores of the cavalry, not to mention the life of Prince Garric. "We might've fought our way clear, lad," Carus muttered. Right, the way you swam to shore when a wizard drowned your fleet a thousand years ago, Garric thought. No, I'm pretty clear on why I'm standing here, and it's not because I have a strong sword arm. As it was, Garric's left thigh throbbed as though a horsefly had bitten him. Master Daciano, the Blood Eagles' surgeon, had sewn shut the lips of the wound and then bandaged over it a poultice of lettuce which was supposed numb the pain. Maybe that was true, but if so it would've beenvery uncomfortable without the drug.

Tenoctris had said she'd do something for him as soon as she had a chance. Right now, both she and Garric thought that the first priority was learning as much as possible about the rat army of Palomir.

"That's odd," Garric said. "The rat isn't as big as it was when it was alive. As any of them were. Can it be shrinking, Tenoctris?" Instead of answering, Tenoctris murmured a spell of which Garric caught only a few snatches: "… sethri saba…" Blue light sparkled over the corpse and around the edges of the pentagon the wizard had drawn on the ground with corn meal. For a moment wizardlight drew an image of the ratman as it had been when a javelin took it through the throat: half again as tall as the present figure and several times the bulk.

Garric said, "Yes, that's-" The image becamedifferent instead of changing. The sparkling azure shell of a young man with big bones and a vacant expression swelled about the furry corpse. He looked ordinary, a farm laborer or a common soldier. Garric had never met him, but he'd met the type a thousand of times. The dusting of light dissolved into the air. Garric found himself blinking away orange afterimages: the blue shimmer had been brighter than he'd realized until it vanished. Tenoctris rose and turned to face him. The spell she'd cast hadn't completely drained her the way it would've done the Tenoctris whom Garric had first met: an old woman with a great deal of wisdom but limited power. Nonetheless the tightness at the corners of her eyes hinted that what she'd just done had required effort, even for the demon her will had bound within her. "They're not shrinking, exactly," she said. The weariness was evident in her voice also, though it gained strength with every syllable. "They're returning to what they'd been before the rite that turned them into warriors." "An incantation, you mean?" Garric said. "A wizard enchanted ordinary rats and made them as big as men?" "Not a wizard," Tenoctris said. "And not a priest either, except that as a priest he summoned the God. It was the God Franca who turned rats into ratmen, Garric. A very evil God."

"Ah," said Garric. He started to speak further, then swallowed the words. "Of course we can fight a God, lad," said the ghost, answering the unvoiced question. Carus smiled with grim insouciance. "I don't see any way we can win, but that doesn't stop us trying." Garric looked at the corpse again; it was smaller yet. From the way it stank, the extra bulk was being lost in the form of noxious gases. Garric grimaced. He said, "Tenoctris, do you need this further? Because if you don't…?" "What?" she said, looking over her shoulder with a critical expression. "Oh, yes, you can bury it. And I have no more incantations for the present, so I suppose we can go outside-" She nodded to the screen of brush. "-this." It struck Garric that Tenoctris, though born to an aristocratic family, paid almost no attention to her surroundings except as they had bearing on something she wanted to accomplish. A peasant might have ignored the stench because he was used to worse; Tenoctris had simply been oblivious of the fact the corpse stank. The fence curled past itself like the coils of a snail's shell. Garric stepped out the open end and said to his aide, "Lerdain, have a detail burn the offal outside the camp. They can use this-" He patted the screen they no longer needed. "-for fuel if they like." The camp was crowded and though as sanitary as possible-by Carus' order through Garric's lips, the latrines were dug before the troops were released to build personal shelters-it was a trampled, barren waste. It would've been far worse if it'd been raining. "A soldier lives in dust or mud," Carus said. "Unless the winter's particularly cold and there's ice instead. Even then it's mud inside the tents and around cookfires. If he's got a tent and a cookfire." Garric laughed and said aloud, "Who'd be a soldier, eh?"