I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

Copyright 2016 by Onyx Tao

This work is licensed under a

Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This is a free cultural work

Chapter Thirty-One: Consolation

Warlord Karol Davis Lycaili looked down at the various piles of correspondence waiting on his desk. After celebrating Temblor's unexpected win against Zebra the previous night with his successful new wrestler, he had to completely rethink his financial strategy. Winning against Zebra would jump Temblor's rank significantly. Karol might not be able to set up any easy matches, after that stunning success. Zebra's long absence from the ring had dropped Zebra's own rank had dropped from first to ... Karol wasn't sure. He had intended to check afterward, and then, in the exhilaration of the moment, neglected to.

He'd intentionally neglected to check, to be honest with himself. He'd been counting on introducing Temblor slowly, letting him build a reputation from low-ranking matches before Temblor took on Carrolade and Leopard. Karol had planned on winning a great many sucker bets placed against Temblor while Karol slowly revealed just how good his wrestler was. It would recoup his investment in Temblor, and maybe even give him a cushion against future events. He'd borrowed heavily to purchase Temblor. Paying back the loan was possible, but it would take him several years. He'd hoped to shorten that.

After defeating Zebra, however, everybody in the league would know Temblor as a wrestler to watch. There would be no easily-won bets now. Nevertheless, Karol hadn't wanted his monetary concerns to poison the joy Temblor took from winning - or his own, for that matter. This afternoon would be soon enough to catch up on the revised ratings, and see what sort of bouts he could arrange, and at what odds, and against which wrestlers.

Knowing that unpleasant task lay ahead of him, however, made the correspondence in front of him that much less inviting. Karol set his mug of tea on a slate coaster, sat down, and unfolded the first letter, a status report from Guild Senior Umar, who was currently leading a six-wagon convoy through Venrir and Ancalagon. Guildmaster Quentyn had already read it, of course, so the seal was broken, but Karol didn't care. The Guildmaster was interested in the business matters; the market prices, the entire matter of commerce. Karol had only a minimal interest in such things. He scanned the letter rapidly, paying attention to the locations, dates, and - if Umar had encountered anything worth mentioning - road conditions and weather.

Karol served the Merchant's Guild by monitoring the many wagons and merchants and even the journeys of the Lycaili Merchant Guild. He knew where each merchant had last reported in, where they had headed, where they ought to be, given what he knew of the roads and distances and travel times, and of course where to direct messages with other Guild members so that they intersected in time and space. Tracking well over five hundred merchants and their supporting carters through trade routes that might wind through fifty or more cities was not something anyone had even considered possible until Karol had offered his services to Guildmaster Quentyn.

Quentyn had initially been dubious, but as Karol calmly imposed order on the various wagons and traders, Quentyn had become a believer.

Over the course of the next three hours he read sixty-two letters, reports, invoices, and orders; nearly twice the usual number. He fixed the new information firmly in his mind. Fortunately, there was a fair amount of redundant information, so he only had to pull and update thirty tracking folders. Unfortunately, that took longer than reading the papers had. He had to get the folders, and add the new information, and that was much slower than simply reading the information. Karol himself had no need of the papers, but they were useful to the Guild when Karol wasn't there to ask directly.

Karol was in the middle of updating one folder while he waited for the ink to dry on the previous one when Guildmaster Quentyn walked into the small room, and looked up at the huge slate wall. The or minotaur glanced over the neat chalk lines and words, and hmmmed to himself, perhaps more to let Karol know he was there than anything else, as the status on the wall was always the last thing Karol did each day. The Guildmaster might be staring at those notes, but he'd had since yesterday afternoon to examine them and Karol had no doubt that Quentyn already had.

"Where is Guildmaster Howards?" Quentyn asked abruptly, as Karol continued to write.

"He should reach Venice the day after tomorrow, Guildmaster," Karol said without looking up, although his pen paused on the page. "Should I add him to the chart?"

"No, that won't be necessary," sighed Quentyn. "I ... I wanted to talk to you."

Karol dipped his pen in the watercup to cleanse it, and set it carefully on the stand to dry. "I am at your service, Guildmaster."

"I wondered if ... well, it's unusual to have a warlord working for us," Quentyn said, standing at the door. "For the Guild, I mean, not as a merchant or guard."

"I had thought my services were useful, Guildmaster."

"Oh, yes, yes, I ... I didn't realize just how useful, really," Quentyn said, letting a smile twist across the warm yellow cream of his muzzle.

"Thank you, Guildmaster. Was there something specific?"

"Ah ... I had wondered, if perhaps, you ... were thinking of offering your services elsewhere?" the Guildmaster said. "I know this is, perhaps, not the, ah, most prestigious posting a warlord might hope for."

"It is not without challenge, Guildmaster, so it is not without interest," Karol said politely. "It may be that my financial situation could force me to apply to a Guard, but I would not have the same level of challenge I have here."

"We pay you a full warlord's stipend!"

"Fifty suns a month, yes, Guildmaster," Karol said. "In fact, as a junior guard, I would probably receive only a warrior's stipend."

Quentyn nodded. "Then surely you are - in a purely financial sense - better off here?"

"No, Guildmaster," Karol said. "A stipend is precisely that - a stipend. In a Guard, I would not need to provide myself with housing, nor food, for myself or my dependent. Nor would I have to pay for tempus or weapons training."

"I thought you practiced in our salle," Quentyn murmured. "You have a dependent? That ..."

"I have recently acquired a slave, Guildmaster," Karol said. "And although I am pleased to spar against your guards here, they are insufficiently skilled to allow me to improve. It is worthwhile exercise, but it is not training - that I must pay for."

"I didn't realize that," said Quentyn. "In any case, your contract does need to be renewed soon."

"That date is nearly eleven months hence, so I do not see the urgency." Karol said.

"But you are, ah, challenged here? Your role interests you?"

"I am. The logistical situation is extraordinarily complex - more so, really, than any exercise I undertook while studying in college," Karol said with a smile.

"But you still have to seek ... I understand," Quentyn said. "I was afraid you might be applying to Guard positions."

"You were?" asked Karol, surprised, and he didn't bother to conceal the emotion. "Why?"

"You are not?"

"I had contemplated it, as an unfortunate necessity, nothing more than that, and ... really, not even seriously until this morning. I had no plans to act on the thought, beyond following up on the thought itself. Your question seems almost prescient, Guildmaster."

"Not prescient, no. Then the only reason you might depart is financial?"

"Correct," said Karol.

"Then ... let me offer you guild membership," Quentyn said. "Guild Junior. You will have a share of our profits. The initiation fees can come out of your share, over, say, the next ten years. You would see a much larger income."

"But I would be bound to the Guild," Karol said. "I have no interest in accounts or trading, forgive me, Guildmaster. Mercantilism is not my strong point. My interest is only in the ..." and Karol gestured to the slateboard. "This. As a Guild Junior, I would ..."

"You have my personal assurance that the Guild would ask nothing more of you than what you are doing now," Quentyn said. "In fact, Warlord Karol, it would be a waste of your talent. I am hesitant to tell you how many suns you save us over a year."

Karol looked up at the board, and at his files, and nodded thoughtfully. "I know I make things easier - but you have made me curious. How do you calculate such a thing?"

"Conservatively," Quentyn said dryly. "Before you came to us, we needed to send urgent messages far more often. We would be troubling Lord Chimes two or three times a week - now, we barely need his services more than once a month, and for matters that no amount of logistics could predict or avoid. Do you know what Lord Chimes charges for his services?"

"I ... I do not," said Karol. "I have never needed such a thing. I have never even given the matter thought."

"Ten suns for a message delivered at his convenience within the next day. Fifty for a half-day. A hundred suns for a message within the next ten minutes," Quentyn said. "Right there - nearly two thousand suns a year."

"I ..."

"It is harder to put monetary value to the other services you provide, but suffice it to say I believe they are at least as great," Quentyn continued. "Several times you have allowed us to take advantage of some fortuitous event, because you could tell us almost exactly where to find what we needed. The landslide at Gabora, just eight months ago. We made a great deal of profit there."

"I had thought we were sending relief!" Karol protested, somewhat shocked.

"And so we did!" said Quentyn. "So we did. Quickly and efficiently - and reaped the reward for being able to do so. It is harder to value the effect on morale, and the three times you alerted us to a missing wagon or merchant long before we might have noticed ... suffice it to say that your services have become important to us. I do not want to lose you." He gave a short smile. "I ... I spoke with a few others, of course, before making you this offer. And ... they do not wish to lose your services, either."

"I ... I see," said Karol, taking a moment to school his expression back to the disinterested and polite warlord's demeanor. "I am gratified. Thank you, Guildmaster. But my financial needs ... let us say induction as Guild-Junior, with the understanding that my current services are the only ones I will offer, and an increase to one hundred suns a month. And a bonus of two hundred suns to sign the, well, it's not a contract ..."

"It is a membership contract," said Quentyn. "And I will accept, on the condition that you stop gambling."

What? Karol stiffened in mild offense. "I am ... could you clarify that?"

"You must stop gambling," repeated Quentyn. "Your conditions are all well and reasonable, and the sums acceptable, but you are in serious debt, and if you continue gambling you will only sink deeper ..."

"Although I place small bets in the wrestling circuit from time to time, I have no great - or any - debts there, Guildmaster," Karol cut in. "Indeed, I am accustomed to winning, since I have a great deal of familiarity with the league members and their stables. I do not know what has drawn my avocation to your attention, but I presume it is this that has prompted this con ..." and Karol stopped abruptly as he realized just what might have prompted the Guildmaster's offer. "Might I presume that somebody has dared deliver to me here a sum of, ah, a hundred suns, as winnings," Karol asked in a cold voice.

"Yes," said the Guildmaster, sounding relieved. "It is a large sum ... you can see why I was concerned, yes?"

"It is intolerable!" snapped Karol. "I was offered that wager, but did not accept it. I did not want it."

"Then you can return it," said the Guildmaster in a bemused tone. "Clearly it was just a misunderstanding ..."

"I don't see how," said Karol, frowning. "I did not get the bull's name. Perhaps I can donate it somewhere."

"You could, but Lord Xavien will scarcely miss it," Quentyn said.

"Lord Xavien?" asked Karol, feeling dumbfounded. "Are you certain?" Why would a gambling debt be redeemed by the Regent? "There must be some error?" he asked.

"I don't question you when you tell me that Howards will be in Venice - should be - in Venice tomorrow," said Quentyn. "I assure you, the funds in question were drawn from Lord Xavien's personal account."

"I beg your forgiveness, Guildmaster," Karol said. "I did not mean to question your competence, it is simply that I am ... not understanding how His Lordship might come to pay such a debt." Karol paused for a moment. "I cannot think of any other reason anyone would deliver such a sum. I am amazed, Guildmaster, and do not know what to think, beyond noting that Journeyman Howards will arrive in Venice two days hence, not tomorrow."

"Yes, you did say that. I beg your forgiveness; I mixed a general metaphor with a specific example confusingly. Are you aware that Lord Xavien left the city early this morning, with a huge honor guard, to courier a message to the Nippon Emperor?" Quentyn asked thoughtfully. "It was entirely unexpected."

"He did? How ... well, I suppose perhaps the bull was a member of his Guard? Who wished to close the matter - although I assure you again that I did not consider it open - before he left?"

"Possible," the Guildmaster said. "But ... dubious. Lord Xavien's guard are all as, hmmm, well, inflexible, shall we say, as he is on matters of honor. Not that that's a bad thing; I quite respect it. Still ... you have a point. I cannot imagine any of them requesting his lord pay a gambling debt. Unless perhaps he simply takes advantage of the fungibility of funds? Could that be it? Could you have made - or mistakenly have been taken to accept - this wager with one of his guard?"

"Perhaps," Karol said uncertainly. "The bull I met was pristine, and ... he had a manner, of a great landholder, or an extremely senior General. If you know what I mean?"

"Yes," Quentyn said. "I do, but Lord Xavien does surround himself with senior bulls. His Master of Time, perhaps?"

"I know Havel, it wasn't Havel ..." Karol said slowly. "Perplexing. I suppose it is a conundrum to chew on and I will simply have to wait until the Regent returns to unwind the matter."

"Yes," the Guildmaster said.

Karol nodded decisively. "Well, unless I have a mysterious invitation to go along with this embarrassment of winnings, I suppose I will."

Guildmaster Quentyn drew in a short, shocked breath. "How did you know? And you accused me of prescience!"

"What?!" said Karol, shocked enough to show his surprise. "I assure you ... but ... there was a smallblood who spoke to me quite ... confidently." Karol replayed the exchange again in his mind. "Almost impudently, I might say, but although his interjections were unrequested, they were polite. A brown. I did wonder why Chelm permitted them ... perhaps he will supply the details."

Quentyn shook his head. "Ah, no, there is no mystery to who sent the invitation, it is the invitation itself that is mysterious. And it is why I thought you might be ... seeking other employment. In conjunction with the winnings, of course."

"You draw this mystery out," Karol said. "Who?"

"You are most politely invited to attend the Patriarch for tea this evening, at the seventh candlemark," Quentyn said. "I was ... I thought you might be joining ..."

"His guard?" asked Karol, astounded. "I am flattered, make no mistake, but ... I lack experience and skill to qualify for such a thing. I am acceptable, but I am no expert armsmaster, nor tempus master, nor Learned, nor even experienced, really," Karol said slowly. "I have nowhere near the seniority to even consider applying, much less receiving such a preference. I might join the guard of a senior General, perhaps even hope for a junior position serving Lord Run, but ... nothing higher than that."

"Your skill here," Quentyn said soberly, "is immense. I have met no other bull who could track the trading of the entire Guild in his head. And do not tell me any warlord could manage it, because we have warlords in the Guild, and they cannot do what you do."

"Well, it is a lesser part of a warlord's tasks, to manage the supplies and caches for a number of forces," said Karol. "But mostly theoretical. Nobody has had to - or even tried to - maintain multiple armies in the field for a long time. If it is a gift, it is an unneeded one."

"We need it, I assure you!" the Guildmaster said sharply. "Do not denigrate yourself. It is a remarkable gift and invaluable to us!" He fixed Karol with a hard stare. "Do you think I would offer you such terms as I have if you did not warrant them?"

"Thank you," said Karol. "And I thank you for the compliment. But ... His Excellence? Why would he ... was there any mention ..."

"It was merely an invitation, delivered verbally, to me," Quentyn said. "It was made clear that you might decline it as inconvenient on such short notice, in which case General Zachiah begged the indulgence of being informed so that His Excellence might reschedule it at a more suitable time."

"General Zachiah! In person!?" Karol said, alarmed. "He ..."

"No, no, he sent a guard," Quentyn answered, shaking his head in negation. "Warlord Urland, to relay the request."

"I ... that is ..."

"You cannot decline," Guildmaster Quentyn said, with a stiff look.

"Of course not!" said Karol. "It is just ... unexpected ... may I send a guild courier to accept it?"

"I assured the messenger that you would be available to Lord Teodor," said the Guildmaster, sounding faintly affronted. "Of course. What other reply could there be?"

"Yes, of course, thank you," Karol said faintly. "But ... whatever can the Patriarch want with me?"

* * *

Presenting himself at the Patriarch's Height halfway between the sixth and seventh candlemark left Karol barely enough time to reach the interior. He was not, he realized, being shown to one of the formal rooms near the Patriarch's Chair, but into the Patriarch's personal suite. Everything was slightly worn, almost shabby, and bleached to the soft colorless gray that characterized the mage who had been Lord Fog, and was now His Excellence Patriarch Teodor Lycaili. Two gray velvet sitting chairs surrounded a low gray wood table, with a brilliantly polished gold tea service. Even the cups looked like gold, trapped under a thin transparent glaze that protected the delicate gilded porcelain. Patriarch Teodor himself was waiting - waiting! - for him, and the gray minotaur rose to greet him.

"Master," Karol said quickly, dropping to one knee before the Patriarch in the proper protocol. "I am Karol Davis, and your bull. How may I serve you?"

"Ah," the Patriarch said softly, and Karol fought an unbecoming urge to look up before he was bidden. That voice ... it reminded him of ... what?

"Please, Warlord Karol, I have asked you here not as Patriarch Teodor, or even Lord Teodor, but simply as Chelm's father," the too-familiar voice said. Karol had only heard His Excellence once, though, at his investiture as Patriarch. Why did his voice sound so familiar, then?

"Please, rise," said the Patriarch, and then Karol placed it: this was the brown who had seemed so oddly interested in Chelm. Except ... he'd been brown. Not fog-gray. Karol picked himself up, and, at the Patriarch's gesture, seated himself in the other chair.

"Master, that was you last night," Karol said, trying to sound respectful.

"Yes, and please, call me Te," the Patriarch said. "I am here, as I said, as Chelm's father. I could not explain myself last night ..."

Karol heard the words, but his mind whirled with the information. If the Patriarch had been disguised as a larger brown bull, then if the pristine bull ... hadn't been pristine, but ... if he had been ebon ... the facts fell together in his mind like a shapeless flutter of birds forming a flight pattern. "The pristine, that was Lord Xavien," Karol realized. "The Regent offered me that bet himself."

"I ... it was," said the Patriarch approvingly, "exactly so, but however did you know it was he?"

"Lord Xavien sent me a hundred suns, I got them just before noon," and Karol closed his mouth before he could babble further. "I beg your forgiveness, Master ..."

"There is no need," the Patriarch said. "We were incognito, because I did not wish to disrupt the wrestling event, I merely wished to observe it."

Another thought fell into place. "Then the additional bulls in the Hall - they were your Guard, I thought there were a great many on what I'd expected to be a slow night," Karol said.

"They were guards, yes," admitted Teodor. "You would not believe the negotiations to allow me to attend on such short notice, even incognito."

"My ..." and Karol paused, shocked. "My Lord, your safety is paramount."

"Please," the Patriarch said again, and then seemed to think better of his words. "Please call me Te; there was a misunderstanding over Chelm's relationship with his mentor, Lord Xavien, and it upset you."

"I ... it did, Mas - Te," and Karol swallowed. "It did, but ..."

"Please believe me when I say it upset Chelm just as much," Teodor said. "He has been every bit as busy as he has represented to you, and ... although he was intimate with Lord Xavien earlier, that was ... part of his training to be a mage. You've heard the rumor that intimacy is occasionally part of magecraft?"

"Who hasn't, Te?" said Karol, managing to substitute Te for Master at the last moment, however unnatural it felt.

The Patriarch took a breath, and poured hot tea into the two cups. "It goes deeper than that, Karol, and I think you deserve a fuller explanation ..."

* * *

Dinner with Patriarch Teodor. Only, of course, Lord Teodor had described it as a family dinner. Just a simple family dinner. One must not, did not, could not, decline the Patriarch's invitation, even if the Patriarch chose to pretend he was Chelm's father rather than Karol's Lord and Master. Karol forced himself to smile, and accept. The Patriarch seemed delighted at the acceptance (as if Karol's acceptance of his Master's desire was something other than a foregone conclusion) and had promptly confirmed Karol's lurking fear that Chelm would be not only present, but the only other guest.

And now he was in yet another fog-gray room, staring down at the gilded porcelain dinnerware that glowed golden against the elaborately embroidered gray tablelinens, with His Excellence - who had continued to insist he be addressed as 'Te'. Chelm sat directly across from him, and the only thing that Karol could think of that made the situation bearable was that Chelm seemed as uncomfortable as he was. Even Zebra, kneeling beside Chelm, didn't look as calm as he usually did.

Referring to the Lord and Master of Lycaili as Te seemed unnatural, and made the dinner that much more awkward for Karol. At least Temblor - whom the Patriarch had insisted on sending a guard for - kneeled equally quietly beside Karol. Someone (to whom Karol owed thanks) had briefed the human on the proper mode of address, since he'd just said, "Thank you, Great Lord," when the Patriarch had congratulated him on his victory yesterday. The Patriarch had just sighed, and moved on.

Fortunately, Temblor seemed to be on his best behavior. Karol had dealt with Temblor's occasional obstreperous behavior gently. The human wasn't stupid, or even particularly troublesome, but Karol had long realized that, sometimes, Temblor needed two or three days to adjust to Karol's expectations. Karol would not have chosen to give him the opportunity to embarrass himself (and Karol) in front of Lord Teodor. Asking him to attend a formal dinner was most unjust to Temblor, but the human had done extremely well. Karol made a mental note to reward Temblor for that; the man had done surprisingly well and seemed to be actively trying to behave. That bought him, in Karol's estimation, a great deal of leniency.

They had enjoyed the caramelized onion soup served silently by Teodor's slave Dapple in almost the same silence. Teodor's few halting comments garnered almost no response from Chelm, and Karol himself felt too uneasy to say anything beyond how good the soup was. Karol would have given Temblor a cup, but he didn't think Temblor knew how to eat soup properly, and he didn't want Temblor to spill it. Karol had put off advanced leash etiquette and formal training for the human, since Karol hadn't considered it important yet, but ... the Patriarch might well invite other great lords to his simple family dinners. Karol had already heard that the visiting Imperial Prince had been invited last night. If there were to be more of these ghastly meals with the Patriarch, he'd have to teach Temblor how to behave in these more formal situations.

More? Karol just took another spoonful of the (admittedly excellent) soup. Was he really considering that there might be more? He made himself look at the possibility. Of course there would be more ... if Karol wanted Chelm, and Karol had to admit to himself that he wanted Chelm very much, then he would simply have to accept that the Patriarch of Lycaili was also Chelm's father. Except, why did he have to be so interested in Chelm now? Hadn't they just spent the last six decades estranged? Couldn't Chelm have given Karol just one more decade? Half a decade? A year?

Would it have made a difference?

Or was it Karol's fault? Should he have ... said something earlier? But they'd seemed to have so much time, and Chelm ... Chelm was so ... accomplished. He made Karol feel like the mediocre bull that ... that Karol was, really.

The Patriarch's voice broke into those gloomy thoughts with yet another conversational gambit. "I don't suppose I mentioned to you, Karol, how much Xavien and I enjoyed the wrestling last night. I'm told you, along with Chelm, were instrumental in forming the league."

At least Karol was better prepared for this one. "Not ... not particularly, no," Karol said after a moment, with a half-smile. "It was Chelm's idea. I just organized the first couple of bouts, and then it ... rather exploded on its own; Chelm took on the leadership full-time."

"That is an extraordinarily modest description of your contribution," Chelm said. "I would not have known how to organize such a thing. I thought it would be interesting to adapt wrestling for humans. Karol invented the bout system, devised the ranking system as well as the match point system. The mechanics of the matter - almost entirely his."

"You had rather more input than that," Karol said.

"Not as I remember it," Chelm said, sounding slightly aggrieved. "What I recall from Karol was an endless litany of 'wouldn't it be better if' ... and it invariably was." The roan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, maybe not the paint."

"That wasn't my idea; that was Spiro!" Karol said indignantly. "I said it might smear!"

"You are right," said Chelm, a wry smile dancing across his muzzle. "And you were right then, too."

"Paint?" inquired the Patriarch, sounding actually interested.

Since the Patriarch had been looking at Karol, he felt obliged to answer. "Spiro's thought was to paint the wrestlers in distinctive colors. After Chelm started tattooing Zebra. The original concept was Chelm's, really."

"Tattoos do not smear," objected Chelm. "And I was after the pattern, more than the color."

Karol ignored him, and forged on. "The concept was decoration. Spiro painted his wrestler. Storm. Dark gray, with brilliant blue lightning," Karol said, remembering. "It looked very good. Wonderful. But ..."

"It was not a success," sighed Chelm. "Yes. Unfortunately. Storm looked fantastic ... before the bout. Afterward ... who was the other wrestler?"

"Cadence," said Karol, and suppressed a laugh at the recollection. "They were both covered in blue and gray, the patterns and clouds completely gone from Storm. It looked ..."

"Terrible," said Chelm, with an answering grin. "Yes. I remember. Spiro had used almond oil as the base for his paint, since the wrestlers' sweat would cause the paint to smear. But we use almond oil for the matches, so ..."

"It was a horrible mess," Karol said, and stroked Temblor's head. "New rule. No paint or dye on the contestants. Spiro was disappointed."

"Well, the rest of us were satisfied. Including Montmorris. He was furious at what happened. How long did it take him to get the last of the color off Cadence?"

"Nearly a week," said Karol. "Spiro never did tell us how long the paint lasted on Storm."

Chelm laughed. "Yes. It took a while for Spiro to enter him in another bout."

"Seven weeks, three days," said Karol. "Against Ballard's Opus."

"You still remember?" Chelm sounded a little surprised.

"Of course," said Karol, dismissively. "You know we had dinner that night, earlier."

"Did we?" asked Chelm. "I'm afraid ..."

"That was the night Zebra pinned Blackhawk. The first time."

"It was, yes, I recall now," Chelm said, with a grin. "Now, that was a good night. I do remember that dinner, I just hadn't remembered Cadence. Not a top-rank wrestler, I'm afraid." He looked Karol directly in the eye. "We celebrated that, you, I, with Zebra."

"Yes," said Karol, and then realized that Chelm's father, who happened to be the Patriarch, was listening almost spellbound to their banter. "But that was some time ago, of course."

"Of course," echoed Chelm.

"Hmmm," said the Patriarch. "Dapple, please bring in the next course."

* * *

The entire dinner had consisted of only four courses - the thick onion soup, a beef confit, a light asparagus and pear salad with raisins and an herbal minty dressing, culminating in dessert: a small, individual tart of candied pomelo. Temblor received half of Karol's tart, and Karol hoped that Temblor understood just what a sign of favor that was. After the meal, the Patriarch had invited them into the sitting room where they were now sipping pear brandy. An excellent pear brandy, Karol noted. The conversation had progressed in fits and starts, and the current state was back to quiet, while they enjoyed the rare liqueur.

The Patriarch's offer of a second smaller glass to Karol and Chelm gratified Karol; he had accepted the small treat for Temblor, even though Chelm declined for Zebra. The heavily-tattooed wrestler hadn't seemed at all distressed by Chelm's refusal, so perhaps Zebra just didn't care for pear brandy. Temblor was sipping his, mimicking the three bulls, reasonably well. Karol would find out how he liked it later.

"It is late," Patriarch Teodor finally pronounced, and Karol felt grateful the evening was coming to an end. It hadn't been as dreadful as he'd feared - there had been several excellent moments - but he just didn't ...

"I will extend my hospitality for the night to you, Karol, of course. Chelm, I had a long discussion earlier this evening with Karol about mage-training."

That would raise Chelm's hackles, Karol thought, but even so ...

"You did what!" said Chelm, looking alarmed.

"It seemed fairly obvious that you weren't going to," the Patriarch said blandly. "Were you?"

"I ..."

"Were you?"

"I suppose I hadn't really decided," Chelm said, teeth gritted. "Still, if such a thing ought to be done, than really, I ought to do it."

Karol suppressed his snort of laughter, managing to keep himself still. He could still envisage this going very badly.

"Well, Chelm, dearly as I love you - and I do, I assure you - I am perfectly aware that you can put off these little discussions indefinitely," Teodor said. "I thought I'd do you the favor of having the discussion with Karol - a fine bull, I might add - and that I could have the conversation far more easily than you. Even I find the details of lens euphoria a little, ah, hard to discuss."

"There was no call ..."

"Probably not," the Patriarch said cheerfully. "And yet, hindsight, however cleverly applied, has no further influence on the matter. The thing is done. Karol is now perfectly aware of the misunderstanding that occurred last night."

Chelm said nothing, and Karol noted with some surprise that Chelm's jaw did not tense the way Karol had expected.

After a moment, the Patriach added, "Undoubtedly, you would have realized that the longer you let the misunderstanding fester, the more unpleasant the resulting conversation; I probably should have left it to you after all. I do beg your forgiveness, Chelm."

"I ... yes," Chelm said. "Undoubtedly. Think nothing of it."

"Marvelous! I am going to take advantage of an early evening," the Patriarch said as he stood. "Whether the two of you do - or do not - is up to you, of course.

"Zebra, I wish you a good night," the Patriarch added as he walked to the door, and paused. "And, if I may be so presumptuous, Karol, might I express my wishes to Temblor?"

Karol felt Temblor go rigid beside him. "That would be welcome, Lord Teodor," as he put a reassuring hand on the human's shoulder.

"A very good night to you, Temblor, then," Teodor said softly, and turned to leave.

"Not to us?" called Chelm.

The Patriarch stopped, and turned fully around to fix first Chelm, and then Karol, in his gaze. "Well. Your good night is fully in your hands, Chelm, Karol." A hint of a smile danced across the gray muzzle. "I've done everything I can," Teodor continued. "The rest ... I leave to you."

And then he was gone.

Karol looked over at Chelm, with a little trepidation. He needn't have worried; Chelm was staring at the now-empty door with an odd, almost dismayed, expression. "Your father is ... not what I had expected," Karol said finally.

"From me, you mean?" asked Chelm, sounding defensive.

From anyone, Karol wanted to say, but that wasn't what Chelm wanted to hear, Karol thought. "Partly," he said. "Yes. But ... more."

"He is unique," Chelm said more neutrally. "He sees ..."

"He is remarkably like you," Karol said. Best to say it immediately, rather than later.

"Me!" Chelm somehow infused that word with a complex melange of indignation, bemusement, and disbelief.

"Well, you're more ..." and Karol paused. Attractive was true, but not what he wanted to say. "My type, I suppose. I ... last night. I hope I did not ... embarrass you." Or hurt you. "I was taken by surprise."

"No, it is I who should beg your forgiveness," Chelm said. "I just didn't expect you there. Or that you would ... somehow ... realize ..." and Chelm's eyes narrowed. "Just how did you know? If that hurt you - it must have - I beg your forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive. We had no agreement," Karol took a breath. "It was just the way he stood. Next to you. And ..." Karol paused. "I don't know. Something in your stance. It was just ... obvious. Impossible to ignore. A certainty."

"You just ... knew," Chelm said thoughtfully. "You've done that before."

Not this again, Karol thought. "Let it go."

"As you wish," Chelm said, surprising Karol.

Chelm had never stopped picking on Karol's odd ability to know; why would he now? But what could Karol say beyond a simple, "Thank you," if he wanted the topic left behind.

"You were ... I was ..." and Chelm stopped. "I couldn't explain. I regret that, but ..." and then he smiled. "May I say that it was the result from yet another of my father's private little family dinners?"

There had been two minotaur with Chelm, Karol belatedly remembered. One of them was Lord Xavien. The other ... Karol swallowed as he remembered just whom gossip had placed at Lord Teodor's table the previous evening. "It wasn't only the Patriarch who wanted to see your innovation, was it?"

Chelm's face froze. "Do not pursue this, Warlord Karol. I beg you to leave it here."

Then it had been Prince Noroma. "As you wish," Karol said, with a smile.

Chelm returned it. "Thank you," he said, and then, "I appreciate your never speaking of this again."

Karol nodded.

"I should have realized ... well. I have missed you, Karol," Chelm said. "More than I thought I would. And my father is right; I am too stubborn to admit it to myself without some help."

"He has a reputation for obstinacy as well," Karol said.

"Oh, and well-deserved it is," Chelm said, nodding slightly. "Perhaps as well as mine."

"Then he is well-equipped to recognize it elsewhere," Karol said, and then softened that with "I find it an intriguing trait."

"Do you?" said Chelm, with a smile that entranced Karol. Chelm smiled so rarely, Karol thought. "I must admit that your Temblor acquitted himself remarkably well last night. I was vastly impressed. You must have been working with him all this time; your hard work shows." Chelm's glance flickered over to Temblor, again with that relaxed and delicious smile. "And his, of course." The roan bull took a sip of brandy. "Although it might have been a fluke," he said teasingly. "I doubt it, of course. I took Zebra out of the circuit for a reason. But still ..."

Ah, so Chelm was interested. Good! But Karol would hardly let the oblique slight on Temblor pass - or the invitation for an invitation. "It might have been a fluke, although, as you say, I think not." Karol grinned lazily in invitation. "But no amount of discussion can settle the matter, now, can it?"

"Zebra knows how good Temblor is now. He went a little easy on him, I thought, at first," Chelm said with an answering smile after an appreciative pause. "I daresay Temblor will have a bit more challenge - would have, rather, if I had any plan to enter Zebra again; I do not. Last night was a special occasion." Chelm looked over at Temblor. "A pity, really, that there's simply no chance of a rematch."

"I wondered that you didn't enter Leopard," Karol teased.

"What, enter the second-ranked wrestler against some last-minute contestant? Oh, that would be a poor show. Or, it would have against any of the others. Which you had in mind by entering Temblor there, didn't you?" Chelm asked.

"I did hope to have two or three bouts before anyone realized just how good he was, yes," admitted Karol.

"No chance now. Although I am certain Zebra still ranks him."

"I have not had the leisure to inquire," Karol said. "I have no doubt you are right," he added, finishing with "Despite Zebra's loss."

"Yes, despite that," Chelm said. "Still, as you said, no amount of mere discussion will allow us to better judge our slaves' relative skill."

"True," said Karol, hiding a smirk.

"Then, if you would care to join me for the night, I propose we put it to the test."

Karol paused. "That would be delicious, and I would love to do that - but I do not want Leopard to watch."

Chelm stared at him for a moment. "So that's your plan."

Karol bobbed his head in a brief nod. "It is."

Chelm had lost his calm demeanor. "Your Temblor will never take down my Leopard!"

"Certainly not today or tomorrow," agreed Karol with a pleasant air that fooled nobody in the room.

"The more I think of it, the more I think that your, excuse me, his first victory may well have been a fluke." Chelm's gazed fixed on Temblor. "I become sure of it."

Karol looked at his friend for a moment. "Sure? Sure enough to ante against Temblor?"

"You propose a rematch?"

Karol lifted his glass in silent affirmation.

"Adding yourself to the ante?"

"Yes," Karol said. "It's been a while since I've had you."

"Oh, I accept," Chelm said. "Happily. Although it is I who will have you."

Oh, that would be just fine too, Karol thought, but he said, "Bold words, friend Chelm. Is there a salle here?"

"Yes," said Chelm.

"And Leopard?"

Chelm paused for a moment. "He could join us ... after?"

"No," said Karol. "Not that I wouldn't be happy to enjoy him after Temblor does."

"I foresee no end to that wait," Chelm murmured. "But very well. I'll send him to Benelaus. He's Father's Master of Slave."

"Yes, an Ouroubouran, so I hear."

Chelm nodded. "Yes. But Father took him on before he had any idea that ... well. But he's done extremely well, even with Nestor."

Who? "Nestor? Who is that?" And why, Karol wondered, did Temblor react to that name?

"I ..." and Chelm paused. "A feral. Requiring, hmmm, some special management, as my Father would have it."

Definitely have to speak with Temblor, Karol thought, putting a hand down on Temblor's shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. Later. "They often do, but I find it worth the effort. Good, if you have confidence in Benelaus."

"A moment," Chelm said, and took a breath. "Benelaus? This is Chelm. Might I have a moment?"

A pause, and then, "I would like you to look after Leopard tonight. Is that convenient?"

Chelm seemed to listen to nothing for a few moments before he said, "Thank you, Benelaus. In fact, that will be perfect. Please do not return him until I ask for him."

"No, he hasn't done anything wrong. I just don't need him in my quarters or the salle tonight."

"Zebra will be staying with me, yes."

"Fairly said. I do not think so; but judge for yourself. My friend Karol has brought his wrestler Temblor over, and we intend a private match."

"Exactly so," said Chelm. "Yes. Thank you, Benelaus," and the roan's attention returned to Karol.

* * * * Earlier that Evening * * * *

A blue minotaur, one Temblor had never seen before, and huge - making even Karol seem small - had arrived, and asked simply if he were Karol's Temblor. He'd considered for a moment, and then simply nodded.

"Come. Your Master requires you at dinner," the minotaur had said, and turned, expecting Temblor to follow him, and paused, deep shadows forming as his brows crinkles. "You do speak a civil tongue?"

"Yes, Sir," Temblor said carefully. "Please, Sir, speak slowly."

The bull nodded, and continued, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully, watching Temblor. It would have been insulting if it hadn't helped Temblor so much. "Good.

"If you do not understand, let me know. You will do well not to speak," the bull said after they'd walked a short distance. "Your Master is dining with his Master, and if you are addressed by him, refer to him as Great Lord. Not merely Sir, but Great Lord. Do you understand?"

Temblor nodded again. His master? Karol had a master?

The bull simply grunted, and led him through the winding city streets and arches and stairs and buildings. Gradually, the halls got longer, the floor more polished, even the doors, huge enough to admit minotaur easily, widened until two or even three of them could pass abreast. Stairs kept appearing at regular intervals, wider and wider, and always up. The occasional arches turned into covered lengths, and then tunnels, and then windowed corridors even as the floor went from rough stone blocks to fitted stone blocks to polished sheets of stone to marble. The walls acquired niches and carved ornamentation, even as the floors gained long, thick carpets down their center.

They passed a number of watching guards, as well. When he'd first been captured, they hadn't seemed to wear uniforms, but now, he was starting to notice that, even though their clothing varied, apparently according to the whim of the minotaur, the decorations didn't. Small colored ribbons or braids on the shoulders, and in the case of these guards, red, black, and gray armbands worn discretely on the upper left bicep.

Niches began to host pedestals and artwork; small statues (of minotaur, usually, humans draped adoringly at their feet were optional but a popular), busts (of minotaur, of course), and other graceful oddments ranging from sculptures of colored glass to elaborate flower arrangements - or what Temblor had thought were flower arrangements. One of them stood just outside a door where the blue minotaur told him to wait, and he'd realized that whatever it was, was simply another intricate and brilliantly colored sculpture. Only its rigidity, the lack of any movement in the soft breeze of the corridor, differed from life.

Dinner was awkward. That was the only word for it. He'd managed to address the gray as Great Lord, but much of the conversation had been beyond him. He could pick up a few words, here and there, but scarcely enough to follow the conversation, although he did catch Nestor. What were they saying about the Commander-of-Thousands? Fortunately, whatever they were discussing hadn't seemed to involve him until the gray rose and left - saying something to him in an encouraging tone. Temblor wondered if he should ask Karol later exactly what the gray had said.

The private match turned out to be completely different that what Temblor had expected. It was hardly a match; instead, Karol and Chelm would argue (although Temblor was quite certain the two minotaur would say discuss) over a starting position for both Karol and Temblor - not one of the approved starting positions, but a hold, or a grip, or a stance, and then letting him and Zebra wrestle from that start, for anywhere from fifteen seconds to a minute. Sometimes he'd start with an advantage, holding Zebra in a grip or pin, and sometimes he'd be the one pinned. After a few of these bouts, Temblor recognized that although they weren't immediately reversing the starting positions, they were eventually; if he started out pinned by Zebra, then eventually he'd have a similar pin on his fellow wrestler.

And, of course, the oil was having its usual effect, which is to say, both he and Zebra were rock-hard and dripping. Zebra's skin - where it wasn't occluded by those thick stripes - was flushed and hot, and Temblor knew he was, too. He couldn't follow the minotaur's discussion, but the two of them were, he thought, just as hard as he was.

Temblor had lost count of the matches when, for no discernable reason, Chelm and Karol pulled the two of them into the opposite corners of the room. Temblor was almost shaking with need, and he'd hoped - wanted - tried - to fuck Zebra, but the minotaurs hadn't given him an opportunity any more than they'd given Zebra a chance to fuck him. Would that be so bad, Temblor wondered. He wanted ... really, really wanted, to fuck Zebra, but ... somewhere, quietly but no less insistent for that, in the back of his mind, the thought of Zebra on top of him would be a fine alternative. What was happening to him? Why?

But the two minotaurs were removing their clothes, hanging them on hooks on the walls, and ... yes. Both of them were just as hard as the two humans. What ...

Silently they took positions on the starting mat - both were in the standing position, the most neutral, but then Chelm dropped into a crouch.

"No tempus," Karol said, and it was almost a growl. "I know you'd win there."

"I won't need it," Chelm answered. "This is going to ..."

Be good, thought Temblor, and almost missed Chelm's opening lunge, directly in the middle of the sentence in an attempt to take Karol by surprise.

Karol twisted gently, sidestepping and making his own grab - no, a feint, and as Chelm turned away from the feint Karol was already grasping Chelm's upper arm - ah, a gambit by Chelm, and they fell together into the ring, Chelm on top of Karol who was already rolling mid-air - and although Chelm might be on top, Karol had the pin. The entire bout lasted barely ten seconds, and the two separated.

"I'll have to remember that," Chelm said, getting up. "Very nice."

"Thank you" said Karol. "Best of five?"

"Three," said Chelm.

"If only your wrestling skill matched your confidence, you'd be unstoppable," Karol said. "Three. That gives me advantage."

"Yes, but you'll need it."

"After I pin you again, I will not be open to five; this is your -"

"Three," confirmed Chelm.

Well, Temblor followed that conversation, if not all the words, then the meaning was crystal clear. Chelm and Karol switched places, and this time Chelm took a standing position, and Karol kneeled, planting one knee firmly against the mat.

"Oh, you are asking for it," said Chelm.

"I am," agreed Karol with what could only be a smirk. "But can you give it?"

"Shall we see," Chelm asked, and took a step, and then another, towards Karol, who simply waited, patiently. "You are ..."

This time Karol exploded forward, somehow propelling himself from his knee forward - but not towards Chelm's torso, but his legs, sweeping him over, and then twisting around twice as Chelm leveraged himself against the grip, tumbling over, reaching down for Karol's shoulders but blocked as Karol spun on his arms, locking his legs around Chelm, and then pulling Chelm's right arm against his back.

"That worked out much better than I thought it would," Karol said.

"That was ... ingenious," growled Chelm.

"Or, you're out of practice," said Karol. "Ante me Leopard, and I'll ante you five."

"No, I'd ante Zebra, but not Leopard."

"Then I believe," said Karol, releasing Chelm, "I win."

"You win," Chelm agreed with a sigh as he got up. "Shall we adjourn, then? Baths?"

"Yes," said Karol. "Zebra out-pointed Temblor -"

"Temblor hasn't been taught style yet," Chelm said dryly as he stood up.

"No, but technically ..."

"He did very well," Chelm said. "Temblor's going to be a challenge for Leopard." Chelm stared at Temblor for a moment. "Although Leopard will beat him," he said.

"Eventually, I expect he will," Karol said with a sigh. "Perhaps after ten or twenty losses, Leopard will get lucky. Chance and uncertainty play their role, even as does pure skill."

"I've always admired your ability to dream," Chelm said. "But ... for today, I yield to your skill." The roan minotaur smiled. "In truth, I am not averse to losing."

"I would hope not," said Karol. "I assure you, had you won, I would feel the same."

"I know," said Chelm, taking Karol's hand lightly. "I have always known. I ... my father is right. I do avoid difficult conversations."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Karol said. "I find it endearing - if frustrating, occasionally."

"But it is a flaw, and a foolish one," Chelm said, dropping to one knee in front of the pristine minotaur. "Be with me, Karol? For now, and tomorrow? For good and ill? Make my life rich and full? Be my rock and anchor, my guide and star?"

"Chelm ..." breathed Karol. "I ... want to, more than I can say, but ... I fear I am no fit match ..."

"You are," Chelm said. "You are. I need you. I've ... wanted to ask for such a long time, but while I was estranged from my father ... it didn't seem right. And then, I was a grandmaster, and then a mage and it all has happened so quickly ... I do not want to lose you. Be with me, Karol. I beg you."

"I ... yes. Yes." Karol said, his voice trembling. "Yes! I will be with you, Chelm, for now, and tomorrow. For good and ill. You enrich me, and fulfill me - you are my rock and anchor, my guide and my star."