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Cold Blood

Chapter 19

Expectations

by Onyx Tao

[This story is licensed under the Creative Commons](%5C)

[Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike 3.0 License](%5C)

[Copyright 2008 by Onyx Tao](%5C)

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/

After a restless night, Markus welcomed the early morning arrival of Chelm - with Zebra in tow - and the rigors of the morning . Markus was, he thought, starting to learn the route of their run, despite its complications. The cool morning even earned both of them - Zebra and Markus - a shirt and trousers in addition to the running sandals. The run helped him get his mind off Chelm and Zebra, or at least it would have, if Chelm hadn't been running effortlessly in front him. Maybe he'd cooled off a little from the tension of the bout yesterday and the frustrations of the almost-encounter with Chelm, but watching the minotaur jog smoothly across the streets, legs and muscles flowing easily from stride to stride had him almost as frantic as he'd been during the night. And there was no opportunity for release; no moment he could dodge Chelm's eyes, unless he was securely tied down to the leather-wrapped bench.

Breakfast didn't help; oatmeal, eggs, apples, and hot tea were waiting for them when they got back. At least Chelm seemed to eat the same food he served to them. But they ate in the training room, and between that and the liberal application of oil both he and Zebra were hard again even before they started the stretching and limbering exercises. And it got worse. Chelm seemed to pay no attention to them, even when a long line of glistening fluid stretched from Zebra's manhood to the mat - the minotaur seemed entirely focused on wrestling holds.

Wrestling holds that involved Markus holding Zebra, or vice versa. Skin and oil and the very male smell of exertion and lust were hard to ignore, even with Chelm talking about holds, and rules, and positions. Worse still were the few times Chelm himself would demonstrate a hold on Markus - the proximity of the minotaur made his heart race. It didn't surprise him when the minotaur called for another practice bout between Markus and Zebra, and although he did a little better than before, Zebra still had him pinned to the floor - on Markus's own side of the circle - with humiliating ease. Worse was the pin had his face right by Zebra's striped crotch - even the smell of human arousal was driving him wild.

Watching Chelm fuck Zebra again, as he was tied down was torture, and the torture was repeated that afternoon, after he lost a second bout. Once again Zebra spent the night with Chelm, while Markus was left licking salty-sweet seed from Chelm's fingers, and the not-quite-mocking promise from the red minotaur that "I look forward to your winning, feral, and giving you your reward."

He knew what that so-called reward was. He'd seen Zebra collect. Three times now, and he had a horrible feeling that he'd see it a lot more than three more times. Sure, you had to want to win, but wanting to win wasn't enough. You had to be good. Fast.

After a couple of days, he was picking up the pace in the morning, and Chelm let him take the run faster - Zebra lagged behind a bit, but Chelm didn't seem affected at all. Markus put his heart into the exercises, paid attention to the pins, practiced them endlessly on Zebra - and Chelm tacitly encouraged him. He might have been floating in a haze of lust and frustration and need, but the minotaur seemed, at least, to be honest about what he wanted: Markus to beat Zebra.

Zebra wasn't cooperating at all, and - Markus wasn't sure if this were deliberate on Chelm's part or not - Markus had no chance to talk to the tattooed human. When he wasn't in practice (and practice always meant Chelm was there), Zebra was with Chelm. Zebra seemed determined to prove that he was better, and that there was nothing Markus could do to beat him, in their matches. Always a bout in the morning, sometimes a round in the afternoon, Zebra beat Markus over and over and over and over and over.

Markus was forcibly reminded on the fifth day that, no matter how bad something was, it could always get worse. He'd awoken feeling much better, and a few moments later, the stickiness around his crotch made him realize exactly why he'd felt so relaxed. Chelm hadn't said anything throughout the day, and Markus had come to the conclusion the red minotaur was going to ignore it. He discovered just how wrong he was when Tag strapped a series of leather bands around him. The thing forced his waist up, so that, although he might get hard, he couldn't touch his shaft to the bench or indeed elicit anything other than the lightest touch against the leather tube. He had started yelling at the point, and been just as quickly gagged by Tag. Over then next hour or so, Tag managed to convey to Markus that he'd been gagged so that he could not say anything offensive that Chelm would have to notice. Markus also got a new appreciation for how communicative Tag could be, even without his voice.

Nevertheless, the matches were taking longer each day. Twice, Markus had almost pinned Zebra, and would have, if the tattooed human hadn't managed to just barely twist out of his grip. Match by match, as Chelm explained holds and wrestling and escapes and counters, Markus was understanding more and more just how Zebra was winning - and how to beat him.

It was on the thirteenth day, in an afternoon bout, when Markus finally managed to pin Zebra. The bout hadn't been easy, and Zebra used any number of counters to twist away, up, out of Markus's grip, and on an earlier day, the oil might have let Zebra escape. But not this time; he managed to put an arm around Zebra's chest and slam him to the mat, and hold him there for the requisite count of twenty.

"Yes!" Chelm had said, triumphantly. "I knew it! I knew it! You've won, feral," and even if the furious look in Zebra's eye promised that this was a fluke, Markus knew it wasn't. He might not be able to beat Zebra every time, but ... it would be a real contest from now on. "Let Zebra up. _ Now. _"

Markus instantly rolled off his opponent, going back to his starting position.

"Good. Wait there for a moment," Chelm said. "Zebra."

The tattooed human crawled over to the minotaur's feet, and put his head down on the ground.

"No. You have not failed me," the minotaur said, but Zebra didn't move. "Unless you're arguing with me?"

Zebra raised his head up, and then - reluctantly, Markus thought - shifted his weight back to haunches until he was kneeling.

"Better," said the minotaur, and then Chelm himself had knelt down, giving Zebra a brief kiss on his forehead. "I knew he would defeat you, eventually. I am ... amazed it took him so long. You have done far, far better than I ever imagined you might," the red minotaur whispered. "You know what I want from you."

Zebra nodded.

"Good," said Chelm, heavily, and then the minotaur was standing again, somehow without standing, and looking almost ... distrustfully at Markus. Didn't he want me to win?

"And now for you, feral. It's time I gave you a name," Chelm said. "Leopard. You will be Leopard."

Markus nodded, not quite sure what a leopard was, other than a large cat, but ... it was better than feral. Was it? He glanced over at Zebra, and the elaborate black striping, and wondered if maybe he'd have been better off with feral. Wasn't a leopard spotted? Or was that a cheetah? And ... Markus licked his lips, and tried to remain calm. Getting renamed wasn't the reward he was hoping for.

"You won, Leopard," Chelm said, and then gestured at Zebra. "Take him."

What?

Chelm waited for a moment, and then gestured again, impatiently. "The ante, Leopard. Every wrestler puts his own body into the ring - that's the ante. I didn't let Zebra have you - " Chelm paused, mid-sentence. "Not while you were still learning," and Markus was certain that wasn't what Chelm had originally planned to say.

Markus looked over at the other slave. Zebra was just kneeling there, looking ... resigned, Markus supposed. He didn't look like someone who, well, was eagerly waiting for ... anything. Markus closed his eyes for a moment. He was hard, of course, because he'd been that way for six days. Six very long days, and Chelm has denied him any relief at all. And now he was being asked - told, really, Chelm didn't 'ask' - to do ...

To do what he'd been wanting to do for all six of those days. Something like relief flushed over him. Finally. If there was anything he wanted more than feeling Chelm fuck him - and he'd been dreaming of that, too, and not merely while asleep - it was fucking Zebra, pounding him, paying him back for every accursed ...

He wrenched himself just as his arms closed around the motionless Zebra, converting what would have been a tackle into gentler embrace - not soft, not by any means, but not just throwing Zebra down, and forcing him. He wouldn't need force, and ... he couldn't let himself take out the frustrations and rage of the last few weeks on Zebra.

Markus forced himself to hold still, as every part of his body urged him to motion. He didn't even look at Chelm, this wasn't about the minotaur, and he shut down that thought as soon as it occurred. Zebra ... he began stroking the other man, oiled flesh to oiled flesh. The stripes were so intense, Markus thought he should be able to feel them, but he couldn't, of course, and just concentrated on holding off his own need until Zebra felt calm in his arms.

That took longer than he'd wanted, but at this point anything was longer than he wanted, and Markus just kept holding Zebra until the tension seemed to melt out of the defeated wrestler. He wished he could say something - anything - but given how dead-silent both Tag and Zebra had been around the red minotaur, he didn't want to test Chelm's reaction to unsolicited speech. It wasn't as if Chelm had let him talk at all, and at some point, he wasn't sure when, he realized that Chelm might well never let him speak.

He might have dreamed of being loose, and being able to touch Zebra, but none of those dreams had included Chelm watching him perform, like a stallion covering a mare. It was just one more bitter part of his current existence, and he'd ... he'd have to do it, if he wanted the chance to escape. His own aching loins prodded him on, and he eased Zebra back, lowering him down to the floor, careful not to let him hit the mat. He ran a hand over Zebra's side, skimming off the oil, and applying it to himself, before he pushed the striped legs aside, and used a finger to test Zebra's tightness. The human was tight, and slick inside, and Markus touched his target with another finger, and felt for ... there. The slight bump on the inside, up and a tiny bit to the left, and a little bit of pressure - Zebra twitched, a little, and Markus hoped the look in his eyes wasn't apprehension. That's what he wanted. Markus took Zebra's legs in his arms, lifted them, and pulled Zebra closer to him. He stared back into Zebra's eyes, as he positioned himself, gulping air, trying for self-control against the burning need to feel himself buried in Zebra's warm, tight flesh. Slow.

Slow.

Slow.

It was agonizing, but ... somehow, he managed to ignore the delicious hot slick warm around his shaft, the burring tickle as Zebra's tightness made way for him. He was groaning as he felt his pubes touch against the base of Zebra's muscled thighs, and Zebra was starting to pant, too, and he pulled out - not all the way, just a bit - a little faster, and oiled flesh moved slickly across and out and through and then he was moving back in, almost at a good rate, still fighting to slow down, slow down, slow down but he couldn't, not as Zebra began to move under him, clamp down on his length and -

Release hit him unexpectedly - a howl was splitting his ears, and he knew it was him but he hadn't meant to, hadn't intended, hadn't even felt the orgasm creep up on him like a man swept away by a wave from behind. He just lay on top of Zebra as the wave receded, leaving him stunned and motionless.

And even then, a hand reached down, and pulled him up, still trying to recover from the surprise and the curious lassitude that follows sex. Chelm picked him up effortlessly, pulling him away from Zebra, and the other man whimpered with his own need before the habit of silence quieted him again, and Markus thought bitterly that Chelm was just ... ignoring him. It wasn't even the same deliberate deprivation that had had Markus on edge for nearly two weeks - it was just a blithe dismissal, all the crueler for that.

"Tag," said Chelm, carrying Markus toward the door. "Clean Zebra, see to his needs, and put him back on the hobble. Bring dinner, to him, to my room, for myself and Leopard."

Markus just barely saw Tag nod before Chelm carried him out of the sunlit practice room, past the empty hobbles, and across the room through the other door. Markus had never been allowed here, and suddenly the dingy gray of the rest of the house vanished, into brilliant stripes of color against a deep black background. It reminded him of the patterns tattooed on Zebra, only instead of black and white, these were deep ruby, light amethyst, intense emerald green, and a hundred other shades, as if all the color in the house had been stripped out and layered into this room. There was an equally brilliantly colored carpet, and a number of huge, minotaur-sized chairs and that's all Markus had a chance to register before they were in the next room. It was small - tiny - with another two doors, painted with a light sky blue, and there was a tremendous bed taking up most of the space and then they were through one of the doors into an elaborate bathing chamber.

This room was easily larger than the bedroom beyond. Two more heavy wood doors led out of the room, but that was hardly what drew Markus's eye. Instead of the carpets and wood paneling of other parts of the house, it was tiled, with hard, glossy squares of white, looking almost like opaque glass. It held a huge tub of the same stuff surrounded by complicated silvery pipes and valves, partially sunken into the floor. Two steps led up to the tub, and then four steps led into it, all seemingly formed as a single casting of the white stuff. Chelm put Markus down on the edge of the tub.

One of the two doors concealed a deep closet from which the red minotaur extracted thick, fluffy towels of sunny yellow - they reminded Markus of egg yolks, and set them on a polished black table of the same material. The red minotaur twisted a valve, and then another, and then another, and water began to spray down into the tub from the piping, sort of a miniature rainstorm.

"It will take a moment to warm up," the minotaur said, and Markus presumed he meant the water. Was there a fire under the tub somehow? Whatever he was sitting on felt cool and hard, like polished stone, without any hint of warmth at all. There was another spout, lower, that looked like it would gush water into the tub rather than spray it, and maybe that valve controlled where the water went? So why would there be two valves controlling water into that? Understanding struck a moment later as the water spraying down began to steam. He touched one pipe, then the other, and pulled his hand back from the hot metal. Hot water. The minotaurs didn't just have water piped into their houses, no, they had hot water, too. Markus wondered how it was heated. A hot spring, maybe? A boiler? But they couldn't keep the water hot all the time, could they?

Could they?

"Don't burn yourself," the minotaur warned absently, putting a couple of glass jars next to the yellow towels. One had a white-green syrup, and the other looked like some kind of yellowish paste. A third jar, of bright sky-blue with a matching lid joined them. "There." The minotaur tested the water with a hand, and turned the hot water pipe valve, but Markus couldn't tell whether he was opening or shutting it. It wasn't that big a deal. The Empire had valves, too.

Maybe not this small, though. Or in houses. And not for hot water.

Chelm sighed in relaxation as he stepped completely under the hot water. "That's good. Come in. No. Test it first. Is it too hot for you?" The room filled quickly with warm, wet air scented with the faint pine and earthy smell of minotaur.

Markus put his hand into the streaming water. It was hot, quite hot, but bearable, and he stepped into the tub. Chelm moved aside, and hot, almost too hot, water spattered over him, beading on his oiled skin. The minotaur picked up one of the jars, and poured a generous quantity of the white-green liquid into his hand, put the jar back, and stepped back into the spray. "Stand still," the minotaur rumbled, and started rubbing the stuff - it smelled of mint and herbs - into his hair.

Soap; it was some kind of minotaur soap, and it lathered into a thick mint-herb foam as Chelm worked it into Markus's hair, and then down, over his body. The strangeness of a minotaur - his own master - washing him with his own hands struck Markus. No master in the empire would deign to wash a slave, much less in what had to be his own private bath. And Chelm had seemed very ... mindful of his status. Which made his current position, kneeling and carefully washing Markus's feet - feel very, very strange.

When Chelm rose, he only rose to a kneeling position - which still put his head at Markus's, and Chelm handed the human the soap. The red minotaur waited patiently for a moment, and then said, "Go on."

Markus poured some soap out, and began lathering up the minotaur. The short-hair caught the soap, and Markus found himself needing more, and then yet more.

"Here," said Chelm. "It's washing out," and he turned the spray down to a trickle. "Now." That did help, and so Markus could take his time, pouring a bit of the liquid soap into his hands, working it into the stiff red pelt, over the hard muscle of the minotaur. The fur - hair? - was short and stiff under his fingers, and the mild peppermint scent of the soap got stronger and stronger as he lathered it into the minotaur's pelt. It took quite a while to get Chelm fully covered, and then the minotaur reached out to the valves on the pipes. "Ah," sighed the minotaur. "That feels wonderful. I'm going to turn the heat up. Let me know if it's too hot for you."

The water pressure returned to an almost stinging spray, and the temperature rose from pleasantly hot to almost unbearably hot. Markus stepped out of the direct spray of water, although even the steam was hot. "That feels so good," the minotaur said, eyes closed. "I get so stiff after a workout ... and however happy I am that you finally beat Zebra, I don't think you know anything about massage."

Markus shook his head no.

"That is something you will enjoy learning, I think," Chelm said. "And I will enjoy teaching." The minotaur bent down suddenly, kissing him, the minotaur's lips folding around his, Chelm's arms surrounding him, lifting him up, shielding him from the too-hot water so that only a warm mist surrounded him. The subtle pine-musk of minotaur and the herbal mint scent from the soap filled his senses as the minotaur pulled him up against his body. The red of Chelm's pelt gleamed with water, clear drops running down and out of the tight, stiff hair. "But for now," the minotaur murmured, "we have other business."

Shifting Markus's weight to his left arm, Chelm spun the valves closed, and the water stopped. The minotaur shook, a quick shiver, but it was still enough to fling droplets across the room. Three steps took the minotaur to a shelf from which he took a towel, and flung it over himself and Markus, and another two steps took them into the tiny bedroom. Chelm set Markus down on the bed, and quickly patted himself down with the towel. The minotaur started to move towards Markus, and then laughed. "At this point you're dryer than than this is," and vanished back into the bathing chamber, returning with a fresh towel, tossing it to Markus. "Here."

Markus caught the towel, and quickly swabbed himself dry.

Chelm had him in his grip; there was no transition, no movement, he'd just dropped the towel, Chelm still watching him from across the room, and then Chelm had him. Hard, the minotaur was hard - when had that happened? - and so was he, after the shower, after watching Chelm and Zebra, after watching Chelm take Zebra back, into this room, and leave him waiting and wondering until morning.

Chelm turned towards the bed, and simply tipped over, and Markus was falling, into the soft bed, and he braced himself for the impact of the minotaur, falling on top of him, but it didn't come. Chelm had caught himself, trapping Markus between him and the bed, and suddenly the minotaur was kissing him again. The bovine tongue touched Markus's lips, and then parted them, the warm flesh invading his mouth. Markus opened his mouth, and Chelm's tongue forced its way in - and Markus had forgotten just how large a cow's tongue might be. It seemed that a minotaur's was more bovine than he'd expected, and he almost choked as it invaded him. He couldn't breathe, not with Chelm on top of him, and he pushed back, he couldn't breathe, there was no air, none, and he was suffocating.

And then the huge tongue withdrew - not completely, and air filled his mouth as the minotaur exhaled. Heat surged through him, heat and the resinous flavor pine, moist warmth that nevertheless filled his lungs, and another breath, and another. How Chelm was breathing, he didn't quite know, but the minotaur let him breathe out, and then Chelm sealed his mouth to the human's again, giving him his own breath. It was dizzying, Markus was beginning to wonder where the minotaur stopped and he started.

And how had the minotaur positioned himself there? The tip of Chelm's shaft, touching his center, sent a wave of lust through him. Or was it dizziness? He wanted the minotaur, wanted the minotaur in him, wanted that powerful length inside him, needed it, and he pushed, opening himself, welcoming the length inside him. The sensation was good; better than good, wonderful, stretching himself, feeling that oh yes in him, and all the while he was breathing in unison with Chelm, the scent of resin, the taste of resin, in his mouth, his nose, and it seemed like he was floating. Chelm was surprisingly gentle, careful, aware that however strong Markus was - and Markus was strong - a minotaur was vastly stronger, and Chelm wasn't merely a minotaur but a practiced and muscled warrior. As Markus was to a farmer, Chelm was to the other minotaurs Markus had seen on his morning runs. Chelm wasn't just a minotaur fearsome to humans, he was fearsome to other minotaurs, too.

And that was the male fucking him, breathing into him, and Markus could feel himself responding. The feel of being taken, used, pleasured was bliss, and the human could just let himself enjoy it, there was no way to fight it, no possible way he could do anything that could make any difference to what Chelm wanted, no possible way he could do anything other than what Chelm demanded of him. It wasn't that that made it easier, just ... just better. He could push back against the thrusting minotaur, surrender, open completely to the powerful creature breeding him. And it was good; better than any other time. He'd always liked bigger men, stronger men, when he could find them, if he could find them, when they turned out to be really bigger, stronger, tougher ... maybe it was just his bad luck they didn't; his bad luck that he, Markus, was the biggest, strongest, toughest.

But not here. Here, that was Chelm.

His thoughts dissolved, between the closeness of the minotaur, the press of flesh on his flesh, the feel of the minotaur inside him, the pressure, that had been building for days, slaked only in part by the brief encounter with Zebra earlier, all of it, the lust of the circle, the tease of the touch of flesh on flesh, and now, it built to an ecstatic release. He felt like he was dying, or at least being born, stiffening with the white-hot explosion of pleasure, and fading to darkness. His last thought was that he'd miss this when he finally got back to the Empire.

When Zebra won the bout the next morning, after their run, Chelm didn't take him back to his bedroom for a reward. Instead, the red minotaur set them back on the hobbles, and left Tag to serve them lunch. Zebra said nothing, and Markus wasn't sure what to say, so they ate in a silence broken only by the disapproval of Tag. Markus wasn't quite sure what he disapproved of, but it was clear the mute was unhappy about something.

It wasn't until after Tag had vanished with the remains of lunch that Markus finally managed to break the silence.

"So," Markus said.

Zebra didn't respond.

"Look, I'm ..."

"You're supposed to be learning to wrestle," Zebra said, tonelessly. "You're good. You're learning. That's what he wants. There's no ... there's no point fighting it. You can't win."

"Not directly."

Zebra made a choked sound, something like a laugh, if a laugh was a sob. "You. Can't. Fight. Him."

"So ... it's all right?"

The tattooed man just shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Just ... no. Look out for yourself, Leopard. He gets what he wants."

"Look, Zebra, I'm sorry, it's just ..."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," the other said, sharply. "Nothing. Don't be."

"Maybe I think there is," Markus said. "And ...

"I don't."

Markus was quiet, and then asked, "Then you don't mind his spending time with me?"

"No," said Zebra. It didn't sound very convincing to Markus, but calling Zebra a liar didn't seem like a good idea, either.

"It's not as if I have a choice," Markus said.

"No," Zebra replied. "You don't," and that was the end of the conversation.

Five days later, Chelm was working with Markus and Zebra after their morning run when Chelm stopped, and quickly took a huge sword down from the wall. "Zebra. Leopard. Get over by the window. If I break the window, you're to run, find another minotaur, and demand Lord Chime's protection. Is that clear?"

They nodded as they moved toward the window.

"Verbally," said Chelm, not facing them.

"Yes, Master," Zebra said, sounding shocked.

"Good enough," said Chelm, facing the open door with the sword out. After a moment, he said, "Leopard? Do you understand my directive?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good. We will discuss the alacrity with which you obey," the minotaur said, his concentration fully on the door. "Assuming we survive, of course."

Markus didn't see anything, but Chelm moved, somehow, almost a flicker, no more than an inch, and Markus wouldn't have even noticed that if he hadn't been staring at the minotaur. Chelm flickered again, and this time, another minotaur fell - and that was the only way to describe it - out of midair, heavily onto the floor. The fall was as awkward as the minotaur's landing was graceful, and the minotaur was back up standing almost instantly - with Chelm's huge blade an inch from his throat.

The minotaur froze. He had his own, smaller sword, still buckled to his belt, and wore a shirt of dark red, the rough cloth dyed unevenly but Markus got the impression the uneven coloring was intentional. His pants were of the same rough cloth and uneven hue, but of sky-blue rather that the bloody color of his shirt. A loop of black rope decorated the left of his shirt. The minotaur himself had a pale white pelt, dappled with large black spots. He said nothing, waiting for Chelm.

And eventually Chelm spoke. "Master," he said. "This is unexpected." Markus would have relaxed, except that the huge blade didn't so much as waver from its position.

"Many tests are," the other rumbled. "Might I congratulate you on passing?"

"Maybe," said Chelm. "What beer did I drink at my lesson two days ago?"

"Your lesson was three days ago," corrected the minotaur, "and you drank watered fruit juice. Is there some reason you doubt my identity?"

"Your pardon, Master Kanail, but your behavior is not what I would expect from you. And my father taught me to be very suspicious any time someone varied from their ... routine."

"I never heard that he had such tendencies," the minotaur replied. "Perhaps you could put the blade down?"

"Perhaps," said Chelm. "And perhaps you can tell me why you've intruded in my home?" The blade didn't move.

"And perhaps you can tell me how you threw me out of time like that," the minotaur said. "You didn't learn that from me."

"Didn't I?" said Chelm. "I suppose not directly," and he moved the blade slowly, setting it into a lower guard position. "Only the real Kanail would know that, I grant," Chelm said. "Which brings us directly to why you entered my home without an invitation, when, I assure you, Master, I would have been delighted to extend one."

"But then I couldn't tell if you would detect me lurking or not," Kanail said. "Which you did. I wasn't sure you would. And that tempus-wave ... very clever. Very clever. Better than you know, I think."

Chelm snorted, and carefully replaced the blade on the wall. He turned back to other, bowed - low, Markus thought - and said, "Welcome to my home, Grandmaster Kanail."

"Thank you, Grandmaster Chelm," Kanail replied solemnly.

For the first time ever, Markus saw Chelm look surprised. "What? I'm ..."

"You are now," said Kanail. He reached up, pulled the black rope off his shoulder, tossed it to Chelm, who caught it, still looking surprised. "Here. You'll need this tomorrow."

"Why will I need it tomorrow?"

"Because Lord Chimes prefers his bodyguard to wear full dress, and since you're now a grandmaster, you'll need a black braid. You do have everything else, don't you?"

"No," said Chelm. "I don't."

"Get them," said Kanail. "I assume you've figured out that you're now a member of Lord Chime's bodyguard?"

"I had gathered that, yes, but I'm still wondering why."

Kanail paused. "I can't tell you everything, but ... what I can say is that there was an assassination attempt on your father and Lord Green late last night, by minotaurs with remarkable tempus skills."

"I will kill them," Chelm said cold anger in his voice. "Who ... wait. You said an attempt."

Kanail looked ashamed for a moment. "I'm sorry. Your father and Lord Green are fine. Lord Green's Master of Arms - Warlord Lukas - was slain, and his Master of Time injured. Apparently Lord Green's Master of Slave was killed as well, along with a number of humans. I should have said that first."

"And so Lord Chimes feels he needs a grandmaster in his bodyguard?"

"Two. Scythes will be guarding him at night. You'll have the day."

"Really? Isn't Scythes senior to me?"

"Scythes," said Kanail, "didn't throw me out of time when I tried to sneak up on him. He knew I was there, and I was unable to get advantage on him, but ... he didn't figure out how to throw me out of time."

"No? It seemed obvious."

Kanail shook his head. "It's not obvious. Although I think I know what you did ... it wouldn't work if I weren't within a few feet of you."

Chelm nodded sagely. "I doubt I could generate enough differential to make it effective more than a yard. But given that I'm moving ahead of you, I can close and knock you out of time - and that seemed pretty disorienting."

"It was," Kanail agreed. "I don't know how it would be if I'd been expecting it, though."

Chelm shrugged. "I didn't count on it."

"No. You didn't," and there was nothing but approval in Kanail's voice. "Lord Chimes has asked me to watch over Lord Winter, so I'll be leaving this afternoon. How soon can you get over to Lord Chime's office?"

"A bell, maybe two," said Chelm.

"Good. Thank you, Chelm."

"Wait, please," asked the red minotaur. "Who ... who is guarding my father?"

Kanail paused at the door. "He's still at Lord Green's. I don't ... well, I can't tell you anything more, Chelm. I'm sorry."

"Can not or may not?"

"May not," said Kanail. "Lord Chimes knows more." The minotaur walked out of sight. "I'll see myself out. Get over to Lord Chimes as soon as you can!"

Chelm simply stood in thought for a moment, and then turned to the two humans. "Our training schedule is altered. For now, return to your room. Tag will be up with food shortly."

The minotaur took the huge sword back down.

"Go," he said. "Go."