Robert Asprin - Blood Ties

When Sanctuary's denizens realized that no wards protected the haughty sorcerers, that spells paid for and tendered wouldn't work, that the Mageguild's collective foot had been lifted from llsig and Rankan neck alike, the Hazards' lives would be at risk.

So finding a way to render the grounds and walls malleable to magic was not simply an exercise: The Hazards might need an unbreachable fortress in which to hide from angry clients.

And Randal, whose magic was less affected than the local mages', who had a dream-forged kris at his hip and the protection of the very lord of dreams, had been called upon to aid his guild's relatives-though when the guild had been all-powerful, they had not liked the Stepsons' wizard nearly so well as now.

"It's not me, you know," Randal was trying to explain to the First Hazard, whose war name was Cat and who looked more like a Rankan noble than a practiced adept who'd earned such a name. "My magic, such as it is," Randal went on modestly, "is part curse and part dream-spawned-not dependent on whatever forces have been weakened in the south."

The Rankan adept looked at the Tysian wizard narrowly, then wondered aloud, "It's not some power play of Nisibisi origin, then? Nothing Torchholder, Roxane, and the rest of you northern wizards have dreamed up?"

Randal sneezed and wiped his freckled nose on his sleeve, ears reddening in embarrassment: "If I were so powerful as that, couldn't I rid myself of these damnable allergies?" His affliction was back, the one concomitant he'd experienced of the local adepts' distress: Pollen, birds, and especially furred creatures could bring him to a paroxysm of distress. Once he'd had a handkerchief which quelled them, and then he'd had a power which suppressed them. Now he had neither.

The First Hazard's impolitic retort was interrupted by an apprentice who burst in, saying: "My lords Hazard, a man has breached our wards, a stranger-that is, we think so, but he's coming-up the stairs, now, and he's got his horse with him..."

The handsome First Hazard hung his head, staring at his twisting fingers in his lap, and lied to the wide-eyed apprentice, "It's a summoning. We were expecting him. Go back to your work... . What is it, for dinner? We'll have guests, of course-man and... horse."

"Dinner? It's..." The apprentice was a witchling girl, thick-haired, short and comely, with a small waist that accentuated breast and hips despite her shapeless beginner's robe. Her face was rosy-cheeked and heart-shaped, and Randal wondered why he'd never noticed her, then banished the thought: He was betrothed, soon to be wed to Jihan, a source of power he never mentioned in this afflicted Mageguild.

The girl, composing herself with obvious effort, said, "Parrots, fleas, and squirrel bunions, m'lords Hazard-a stew, if it pleases."

"What?" snapped the harried First Hazard. Then, when the girl covered her mouth under widening eyes, continued: "Never mind the accursed menu, get out of here. And keep everyone else away until the dinner bell. Go on, girl, go!"

As she scurried backwards, a clomping of hoofbeats could be heard, followed by a sound like porcelain crashing on a marble floor.

And then, through the great double doors whence the girl had just fled, a horse and rider came.

The horseman hadn't dismounted; the horse had eyes of fiery intelligence and pricked its ears at Randal. Its coat was mottled, red and black and gray, but there was no mistaking it: It was the Tros horse of his commander.

Through a fit of sneezing he miserably endured, Randal hurried forward, saying, "My lord commander, welcome, welcome."

And the First Hazard, Cat, behind him, uttered a curse which bounced around the room in a gray and sickly pall until, once Tempus had dismounted, the Tros horse flattened its ears at the half-manifested ectoplasm and kicked it to pieces.

"Hazard," said the Riddler to Randal, "and Hazard," to Cat. "Would you leave us. First Hazard? My wizard and I need to talk."

"Your wizard" said Cat, still reflexively acting as powerful as he'd once been. Then his color drained as he remembered his circumstances and put two and two together. "Oh yes, your wizard. I see, my lord Tempus. Dinner will be at sundown, if you'd grace us. I'm sure we can find some... carrots ... for your... mount."

Not a word about the desecration of the Mageguild by a horse, not a single additional attempt to regain control where all attempts were useless: Cat just chewed his lip.

Even though Randal's eyes were already watering, he felt a deep and abiding sadness for the handsome young First Hazard, although in former times he had wished, more than anything, to be possessed of so fine a form and face and bloodline as the Rankan who scurried out of his own sanctum so that Randal and his commander could confer in private.

It was what you were, not how you looked, that mattered these days in Sanctuary. And Randal was the only warrior-wizard in a town that soon would value warriors much more than wizards.

"You need me, commander?" Randal said, trying to speak clearly despite the clogging of his nose which proximity to the Tros horse was causing.

"Yes, I do, Randal." Tempus dropped the Tros's reins and it stood, groundtied, while the big fighter approached the small, slight wizard, put an arm across his narrow shoulders, and walked with him toward the First Hazard's purple alcove. "I need your help. I need your presence. I need your whole attention-now, and always."

Randal felt pride course through him, felt himself grow inches taller, felt his neck flush with joy. "You have it, Riddler, now and always-you know that. I took the Sacred Band oath. I have not forgotten."

Niko had, seemingly, but not even that cloud could block out the light of Tempus's favor-not, at any rate, completely, Randal told himself.

"Nor have we. The Band sets out for Ranke soon, there to meet with Niko and trek east. We want you on that journey, Randal-as a Sacred Bander, purely."

"Purely? I don't understand. It was Niko who broke the pairbond, not-"

"This is not about Niko. It's about Jihan."

"Oh. Oh." Randal slipped out from under the Riddler's arm, its weight suddenly unbearable. "That. She... well, it wasn't my idea, the marriage. You must know that. I'm not even-good-with women. And she's... demanding." The words came out in a rush, now that there was finally someone to tell who would understand the problem. "I've put her off so far, explaining that I can't... you know... until we're wed. But I'll lose so much... power, and there's precious little of that around, these days. She says she'll make up for it, through her father, but I'm not god-bound, I'm bound in-"

"Other ways, I know. Randal, I think I've a solution that might serve to get you off the hook, if you'll help me."

"Oh, Riddler, I'd be so grateful. She's-no offense- more your sort of problem than mine. If you could just get me away from her, as long as it's not taken ill by the Band. I'll sneak away, I'll meet you in Ranke, I'll-"

"No sneaking away, Randal," said Tempus through lips that had parted to bare his teeth.

That smile was one all Stepsons knew. Randal said dumbly, "We can't. . . hurt her-sir. No sneaking away? Then how... ?"

"With your permission, Randal, I'm going to woo her away from you-steal your bride from under your very nose."

"Permission!" Oh, Tempus, I'd be so grateful-so everlastingly and abidingly grateful...."

"I have it, then?"

"What? Permission? By the Writ and the devils who love me, yes! Woo away! And may the-"

"Just your permission will be enough, Randal. Let's not bring any powers into this whose response we can't foresee, let alone control."

The woman was walking alone in the garden while, within the manse beyond, a civilized uptown party was under way. Her hair was blond and curly, bound up in the fashion noblewomen in the capital had adopted this season: held in place with little golden pins hafted with likenesses of Rankan gods.