I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

© 2018 Onyx Tao

I, Dacien by [Onyx Tao](onyx-tao.sofurry.com) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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Chapter Thirty-Two: Accusation

“YOU!"

The word exploded from Dacien in surprise at the ebon minotaur leading the group. He'd expected … Dacien had expected Teodor, or Sasha, or maybe Hector, but not this ebon. He knew him, Dacien knew he knew him, but … he was a danger. Was this one of the Scyllans? Had they tricked Iudas, who was just starting to look back at the ebon bull.

The commandos acted, dropping into time, and Dacien suddenly realized any order he gave them would be too late as the other minotaurs also blurred into the impossibly fast speed of tempus, but he tried to, starting to yell “Stand down! STAND DOWN!" but his own perceptions seemed to speed up, faster than he could make his throat work, as commandos rushed out to engage the newcomers, and the warriors, in turn, rushed to meet them.

Why wasn't his throat working? It felt paralyzed, he felt paralyzed, frozen, as events rushed forward, as the two groups moved together, as the closest commando – Red – met the nearest bull and ducked under his blade, riposting quickly and driving his sword through the thin steel surcoat no that wasn't what he'd wanted but the ebon bull's unexpected appearance had shocked him into yelling.

Except that bull had simply dropped to his knees, not protecting himself, just … surrendering? Lacing his hands behind his neck, and then Kiwi was there, holding his sword to the bull's throat but only that, no more. Seeing that, the other incipient engagements broke off, as about half of the bulls started to follow the ebon's example, and were dropping to their knees – and the commandos seemed to respect that as a surrender.

The words finally broke out, deep and unbelievably slow, “stand DOWN, STAND DOWN!" and there was an offset half-second echo of them in two other voices, a golden bull and a pristine one, who had not kneeled but raised their hands, weaponless, and the remainder of the bulls let swords and hammers clatter to the floor.

“Mage Dacien," the ebon said heavily into the shocked silence. “I beg your forgiveness for this misunderstanding. I am a healer, and would attend General Trevor's wounded bull."

The golden minotaur and the pristine standing to either side of the kneeling bull jerked, and focused on the bleeding figure. “Bravis!" said the pristine, who quickly moved over to him.

“I closed the wound," the ebon continued, “and he is stable, but it will require further attention."

“I do not understand why an attack on Leviathan guards is anyone's fault but that of the attacker," the pristine General Trevor said angrily. “I have every intention of ordering the arrest of everyone here, but I would like an explanation. An explanation, I might add, that was put off" – and the pristine turned to Guildmaster Iudas – “at your insistence, Guildmaster."

“Ah … General Trevor, I beg your forgiveness as well," Iudas started.

“I beg an explanation," the General interrupted. “Forgiveness comes after understanding."

“Briefly, then," Dellios said. “This is – we believe – Dacien Lycaili, who was stolen by Scyllans."

The General turned to Dacien's group. “Dacien? That Dacien?"

“Yes," Dellios said. “He and these others escaped, and in the process, brought doubt to our mind about the true allegiance of Grandmaster Wolachya, whom we know as Wolachya Leviathan, and Dacien knows as Wolachya Scylla."

“Impossible," said General Trevor, although with less conviction than the word generally implied.

“Seemingly," said Dellios. “You were you informed that all ninja Lycaili has encountered are ebon marque noir, or pristine marque blanche?"

“Yes …"

“And have you ever noticed a great many unobtrusive bulls matching that description training under Grandmaster Wolachya?"

“Yes," said Trevor dismissively, “but he takes many students. Most of my guard trained under him!"

“Precisely our point," said Iudas. “Dacien – Mage Dacien, when you escaped from Scylla, you said you escaped through a portal, not across a border."

“Yes," said Dacien.

“And that egress was where?"

“About five miles distant," Dacien said. “At the Thousand Iris …" and then he stopped, backing away from the conclusion to the observation that had led to it. “The house from which we escaped had a plaque identifying the estate as Thousand Iris Place. On the open gate to the main road. We … chose a direction, and had the immense good fortune to encounter one of the Guildmaster's employees, Nils.

“I begged for sanctuary," Dacien continued, “Nils granted it immediately, and promised to intercede with the Guildmaster and his cousin – who likewise extended their protection. Most generously. I am most grateful."

“Grandmaster Wolachya is either a traitor, or a spy," said Dellios. “We did not – could not – know whom to trust in Leviathan, so we decided to hide Dacien, and send for help we were certain we could trust."

General Trevor was silent for a moment, and then, he asked “There was no one in Leviathan you could trust?"

“No," said Dellios, simply.

“Not Lord Nahor? Lord Horse? Lord Tarragon?"

“General Trevor," Dellios said, “I level no accusations, but if Wolachya was corrupted – and I was certain he was – then others must be, as well. Our safety lay in secrecy. Do I trust, for example, you? Yes, certainly. Do I trust everyone you, perforce, must trust in your duties? I cannot."

“I …"

“Lord Xavien vouched for him," Iudas said. “And I am certain this is Lord Xavien."

“But Mage Dacien's reaction was not favorable," Dellios riposted.

The ebon – was that Lord Green? Lord Xavien? Why did his mere appearance …

“I was surprised to see him," Dacien said. “And … I cannot trust my memories, but they suggested he was an enemy." Dacien looked back at the kneeling ebon, who looked pained, and then … something else dragged at Dacien's attention as Lord Xavien began to speak, uncharacteristically rambling.

“Your memories … I will not gainsay them, and that is to my shame, Mage Dacien," the bull said, and Dacien paid as much attention as he could, but the magic flowing around Lord Xavien demanded his focus. Thick, syrupy, like clear honey, magic pulsed out from him, almost like an eruption. “I am not your enemy – never your enemy, but I was not your friend, either. I opposed you and your … elevation. I do not know what you recall," Xavien continued, but his words were just sounds as Dacien recognized the magic as exactly Socks' magic. No; not exactly. Lord Xavien's magic was a rising ocean of power compared to Socks' but other than that single detail, the same.

“… but I was in opposition to you every time we met," Xavien's confession continued. “I have come to regret that. Up to a few days ago, I had told myself that I had done nothing dishonorable, but …" The ebon sighed. “I was lying to myself. I see it now. I did not treat you with the gentle courtesy every bull deserves." The ebon bull twitched uncomfortably, and pulses of magic began to radiate out from him, like a storm-tossed sea. “Let me see to Bravis, and then let us continue this discussion," he said. “And perhaps I can make some amends, in an earnest of your hoped-for forgiveness."

Dacien glanced over to the wounded bull, and then back to the kneeling Lord Xavien. “What are you doing?"

“I? I am doing nothing," the ebon bull said in a confused tone, and then twitched again, sending a tsunami of magic across the room; Dacien flinched, almost expecting to be drenched in the thick clear magic but it passed through him without eliciting a response. “Mage Dacien? What is amiss? Mage Dacien?" Another wave of magic exploded out from the ebon bull even as he asked.

“I don't …"

“Socks!" yelled Dellios, and Dacien turned to see the human collapsed. “What … Lord Xavien, please … what is wrong …" Dellios said.

Magic – Xavien's magic, Socks' magic – boiled through him, just like it was through Xavien, but the ebon bull simply looked puzzled. The seething magic settled for a moment, and Xavien said, “Nothing appears to be wrong, but he should not be unconscious, so … I do not know."

“It's his magic," Dacien said. “It's reacting to yours, and it's too much."

Xavien stared at Dacien for a moment, and then at Socks. “What magic? What do you mean? He's not a lens."

“Yes he …" and Dacien stopped as understanding came to him. “Lord Xavien, he is a mage, but you cannot sense it because his magic is a match to yours … all you can sense is your magic. But your signature is running out of control, with Socks' …"

Xavien paused, and a moment of confusion rippled across his muzzle. “I … Yes. I feel … odd … peculiar, like something … I do not know. Dacien, can you suppress this?"

“No," said Dacien. “I can barely suppress your signature normally, and this is …"

“Would distance between us help?" asked Xavien.

“I can't begin to guess," Dacien said, staring at the magic, feeling it now, washing back and forth from Xavien to Socks and back again, in huge, slow, swamping tides of power. “Your signature is feeding his, and his is feeding yours."

“A resonance, then … Do you remember the exercise at the pear tree? Like that?" asked Xavien.

The memory came to him, Dacien standing with the ebon bull, coaxing pears out of season from a fruit tree. The interference between Xavien's signature and the magic he applied to the tree. Not exactly like this, but still …

“Similar," Dacien said, and then he understood what he had to do. “Brace yourself, Xavien."

“For what …" the bull started to ask but Dacien ignored him as he stretched forth his own power. Reached through Socks, feeling the human's magic stretched, almost to breaking, and smoothed his own power into the weak points, while he tried to understand what was happening.

“Lord Xavien, his heartbeat is erratic," Dellios reported with an edged calm to his voice. “What is happening? Dacien?"

“His signature is being amplified by Xavien's," Dacien said tersely, and then “that is, their magics are reacting to each other. Feedback of some kind. But I'm not sure why. Xavien, can you match your heartbeat to his?"

“Yes …" Xavien said, almost bemusedly. “Trivial, but … Dacien, I am beginning to feel … very strange. I am not sure how to describe it … I do not think this is correct; it is alarming. It is not, you say, your doing? Something is … amiss …"

Dacien could only watch as the power grew, swelling. Whatever tiny magic Xavien had worked on himself to align his heart with Socks had done nothing, and then he realized, of course it had done nothing. It wasn't their heartbeats they needed to align, it was the magic itself. It was the same, of course, so it reacted; Dacien's power moved through both of them, quieting them, but that wasn't the effect of magic on magic, but the side-effect, how Dacien's power made itself manifest.

He, Dacien, could feel their magic, feel the pull of Socks on Xavien, of Xavien on Socks. Getting stronger. The magic building, in a never-ceasing crescendo, each reacting to the other with multiplied force. Dacien felt like he was drowning in the thick heavy power that sloshed so crashingly – and invisibly – around them.

“Dacien," said Xavien faintly, as he sank to his knees, “I do not know if this is your doing, but … I am not well."

Dacien reached into Socks, reached into the source of magic that was the human, and … shoved. The magics weren't moving correctly; they were fighting, not merging, because neither Socks nor Xavien could adjust them, but Dacien, Dacien could … and it wouldn't even have to be precise.

Dellios cried out wordlessly as Socks jerked once, twice in his arms. Xavien shuddered, and made a deep shocked low of distress. But the magic flowed together, a single stream of power welling up … not from Socks, and not from Xavien, but both of them, two sources of a single stream. Xavien shuddered, almost toppling over before he caught himself.

“That is …" said the ebon mage, “what …" and Dacien felt him reach out, and touch Socks gently. “I see him now … that is remarkable," he muttered. “And more than slightly embarrassing. Dacien – Mage Dacien – what was that?"

“I am not entirely sure, Lord Xavien. But I have never seen two signatures match before."

“Match? Yes …" Xavien said. “But why can I feel it now, and not … before?"

“They were not … I'm not sure. But they were out of … they were fighting, clashing, not flowing together," Dacien said. “But they are, now. I adjusted the flow."

“Did you? How … they are …" breathed Lord Xavien, rising. “What a remarkable thing," he said. “What a remarkable human. To whom does this human belong?"

“Me," said Dellios emphatically. “He is mine."

“Then I would wish to speak with you later about him, if I may."

“We will indeed speak," Dellios said, biting off each word, holding the still-unconscious Socks closely. “Later."

“What just happened?" asked General Trevor.

“I am not entirely sure," said Xavien. “I believe you were considering arresting Mage Dacien and these ninja."

“Ninja! And this is …" Trevor stopped. “Roan marque blanche, yes, this is Dacien. Your Dacien. I doubt my Master would thank me for arresting the son of Patriarch Teodor over a misunderstanding. Assuming Bravis can be healed."

“Ah!" said Xavien. “Yes. I beg your forgiveness, General Trevor – Guild Senior Dellios, may I make use of Socks?"

“What do you need from him? He hardly seems able to offer assistance at the moment, in any case.

“He is a lens," Xavien said, staring thoughtfully at Dacien. “A tool for a mage. I suspect … well, I do not know what I suspect, but I would like to see how he and I fit."

“He is not aware," said Dellios dubiously.

“It will not matter," Xavien said. “It will not harm him. It may even be easier on him that way."

“Mage Dacien?" asked Dellios, concerned, “Is this …"

“Lord Xavien knows more about magic and lenses than I do," Dacien admitted. “If he says it will be better, if he says Socks will be unharmed – he is an – perhaps the – expert on such matters. It will almost certainly be better, and Socks will take no damage from it."

“I …" said Dellios slowly, and then, “I know little about such things. But …"

“I need another lens to heal Bravis," Xavien said simply. “And I dare not use Dacien so."

“Then yes," said Dellios, casting a puzzled look at Dacien.

“I will need to touch him …" Xavien said, walking over to Socks, and laying a hand on his head. Socks murmured something, and curled in tightly against Dellios. “How remarkable," Xavien said.

“You have what you need?"

“Oh, yes …" Xavien said, glancing down at the injured bull. Dacien felt it then, Xavien's magic stretching through Socks and out to another lens, and all three magics converged on Bravis. “How remarkable," Xavien whispered to himself. Nothing seemed to happen, although Dacien could feel Xavien constructing some kind complex working over the injured ebon bull, and then the wound seemed to open, ever so slightly, spilling a little blood before closing again, then the edges knitting together and even that faint seam fading out.

“He was satisfactory?" asked Dellios.

“Oh, yes, yes, that is a … he is apt, most apt. He is stronger than – than most, and so suited to me …" Xavien said. “I wonder if this was what Ruus foresaw."

“Ruus?" asked Iudas. “Who …"

“Ruus Lord Chimes, our Speaker," Lord Xavien said more briskly. “He had a presentiment that I should come. Prescient, you know. But he couldn't tell me why, of course."

“Oh," said Dellios, at the same time as Iudas' exasperated sigh of understanding.

“General, I have laid a spell of healing sleep on Bravis," Xavien said. “He will be hungry when he wakes, but after he eats he will be well in two or three days."

“Sleep … how long will …"

“It depends, but I would estimate anywhere from six hours to a day, depending on what his body requires. The sleep, you perceive, is part of the treatment."

“I have never known that done," General Travis said.

“No? Well, it should be. Most bulls are too eager to resume their duties. Bravis took a sword through his abdominal wall, cutting several muscles, slicing intestines, and rupturing his spleen as well as nicking a kidney. I have healed them, but I've found enforcing rest and tying that rest to his own recovery bypasses any number of tedious conversations about presumed readiness for duty." Xavien grimaced. “Perhaps that is high-handed of me. But you do not, I presume, require his services? Between my guard and yours there would appear to be sufficient martial strength present. My guard is, of course, at your service."

“That is kind of you," said General Trevor. “And you are right about … well, I won't argue with the expert."

“No, please argue. It may be I am wrong," Xavien said. “And understanding is always to be preferred over mystery."

“Enough," said General Osaze, who had stood silently. “Lord Xavien, you confirm this is Dacien?"

“Unmistakably so," the bull said dryly. “None other. It can be nobody but Mage Dacien."

“Then I must dispatch a runner to Lord Teodor."

“Yes, but I would suggest, General Osaze, waiting a few moments to understand a little more of Dacien's situation. A quarter-mark of time will mean little to Lord Teodor after so many months, and news, actual reliable news, will do much to ease his heart. Let us know the worst and best of it, first."

“Lord Teodor said immediately," Osaze said reluctantly.

“He did. But of course his orders must be interpreted to fit the situation, or discarded altogether if they do not fit."

“'Immediately', he said," Osaze repeated.

“And Lord Teodor will instantly want details," Xavien responded. “We should send them. The lack of details would be a cruelty."

“I am not far from agreeing," said General Osaze after a moment of thought. “And so I shall agree. Very well. Mage Dacien, Warlord Bryant – can you give us some account of events? With haste, I beg of you, for my Master deserves to know his son is found."

“We can," Dellios said, cradling the still-sleeping Socks, “but it would be better done in our house. The root cellar is meant to hold vegetables over a long term, not … discussions. And I would like to see sunlight."

“Yes, if you please, General Osaze," Dacien said.

* * *

Their return to the Guildmaster's home was delayed by the dense tangle of plants that spread out from the cellar like some kind of verdant explosion. Dacien caught Xavien's frown before his expression smoothed out. “The result of our … initial incompatibility, I presume," he said.

“Yes," Dacien said. “You and Socks were … releasing a great deal of magic."

“Clearly," said Xavien. “I beg your forgiveness, Guildmaster, Guild Senior. I'll help you clear this …" he paused, looking over the wildly overgrown garden. “Unfortunate side-effect. My – and Socks', I would assume – signature. But for now …" he lifted a hand, concentrating, and the plants writhed back, leaving the path to the house clear.

“Fortunately we just laid on another gardener," Iudas said, faintly. “Perhaps we should have gotten a second." He looked at the overgrown tangles. “A third might not be amiss."

Even once they had reached the house, their discussion lasted not a quarter-mark, but nearly five times that. Bryant, Dacien, and even Dusan discussed their experiences with General Osaze, Lord Xavien, and General Trevor. One of the Patriarch's guard, a pristine warlord named Cecilian, listened to the discussion calmly, since he would be returning to Lord Teodor with an explanation … as well as the news that Lord Xavien intended to stay to escort His Serenity Prince Lyo. Dacien felt almost wrung-out, both by the almost relentless questions, and the memories that kept triggering, of Lord Green, of Teodor. Did he remember … and the answer was often, not until you asked, but … I do now.

So much that had been buried, and brought back to life … but with that same chilling detachment, like it had happened a thousand years ago, to someone else who was just coincidentally named Dacien and coincidentally lived his life.

General Osaze led the questioning, save for some occasional questions from General Trevor centering around the ebon bull Wolachya. General Trevor and his two lieutenants had started out extremely dubious that Dacien's 'Wolachya Scylla' was the same bull as Wolachya Leviathan, but the details from Dacien about Thousand Iris Place seemed to convince them.

Directly after General Osaze sent Warlord Cecilian on his way to Teodor, General Trevor turned to Lord Xavien, who had said almost nothing. “I would ask a favor, Lord Xavien. Would you inform Lord Horse that I require conversation with him?"

“Require?" asked the ebon bull. “That is strong."

“Require, Lord Xavien. This … this news must go to my Master immediately, as well." The General looked concerned. “You do know him well enough …"

“I can reach him, yes …" said Xavien. “You would probably care to go somewhere where you may speak privately?"

“I … yes, thank you, Lord Xavien, I would."

“Do that, then, and I will bespeak him." Lord Xavien watched him leave, and spoke as a curl of magic reached out. “Deth? I must speak you urgently."

Later, Xe. Lord Horse's voice, like all minotaur, was deep, but Dacien thought it sounded tired.

“Now," Xavien answered. “General Trevor requires your attention and conversation."

Requires? I am in the middle of some intricate work. Can it wait?

“It is his word, not mine."

So be it, the remote voice said disapprovingly. I will discuss his choice of words with him.

_“_I agree with the word. And I suspect the matter will require Patriarch Nahor's instant attention as well."

Explain yourself, Xe.

“I must permit General Trevor to explain, but I will be at your disposal afterward. Assuming I survive, of course."

What?

“Thank you, Deth," Lord Xavien said, and Dacien felt the magic cease. Xavien gave Dacien a brief smile. “And now … Mage Dacien."

Dacien nodded. “Yes, Lord Xavien? Are you now my Master, since Lord Doze is not here?"

“Not unless you wish it, Mage Dacien," Xavien said after a moment. “I … do not know if, what you might recall of our previous meetings."

“Some," Dacien acknowledged. “It's … like it happened to someone else, though. Not real, in my mind."

“I have a vague idea of what that is like," the ebon said quietly. “There are rituals to suppress memories, and quiet emotions, to put one in a … deeply contemplative state, but although I have undergone them, I did so by choice, and knew I would regain what I was relinquishing."

“Do you think Lord Doze can … do something?"

“All I can tell you," Lord Xavien said, “is that there are no rituals I know of to do so. The rituals that make changes in mentality – and there are such things – cannot be undone. But what was done to you and Bryant and even your poor commandos," and Xavien paused as some thought hit him. “That was an air mage, and I do not know. Kant … do you recall Kant? He was taken with you."

“Yes."

“He was destroyed, flayed down to the essentials of his personality, and then beyond. There was … nothing left of him. I cannot tell you how angry I was when Sasha reported that to us – to the Council, I mean."

“I don't think it was Timas' choice," said Dacien.

“No. It seems I have turned my fury on victims, not perpetrators," Xavien said, sounding frustrated. “I will ask Teodor and Dapple for those skins back, and have them set aside for my pyre. Perhaps an empty honor will atone for an empty insult."

“That's … I don't know that I would have expected that from you, Lord Xavien."

“I fell into a pit of my own arrogance," the ebon bull said. “Lord Teodor pulled me out." There was something like a grin that crossed his muzzle. “I expect I will find new mistakes to make."

“That sounds like something Teodor – my father, I mean – would say. Is that right? To call him Teodor when I'm talking about my father?"

“It can be," Xavien murmured. “It … why do you ask?"

“Because he – Lord Fog, told me that forms of address were extremely important, and it would be easy to give insult."

“Hmmm," Xavien said. “That's not wrong, but …"

“Not quite right?"

“Not right, not wrong, just too simple. The form of address depends on how you are referring to the individual. To say, 'Good morning, Teodor' is entirely different than 'Good morning, Lord Teodor,' or even 'Good morning, Te.' When someone has three or four or more titles which may be used … it becomes complex. You might say 'Good morning, Teodor,' or 'Good morning, Father,' and mean different things," Xavien said slowly. “I … recall lessons on them, but really, it is something one picks up from using. And hearing. General Un has been appointed Teodor's Master of Protocol; he could assist you."

“Teodor appointed a Master of Protocol? That doesn't sound like him."

“No, it was for the Imperial …" and Xavien stopped. “Ah. News. Do you know anything of the Imperial Clans?"

“Nothing."

“Well, there are a number of clans – some ten or twenty, I misremember precisely, who have Patriarchs, of a sort, but also venerate an Emperor. They refer all intra-clan business to him. They are the Nippon Clans, or Nippon Empire, if you wish, and they are across the ocean. Sail east from Leviathan Port, and you will come – if your navigation be right, and the sea accommodate you – to Mosura Port. Since they are far away, Lycaili has had very little to do with them."

“What about them?"

“Upon Patriarch Teodor's ascension – and because of the unrest of this Scylla matter, and perhaps some daring, ah, unconventionalities of Lord Teodor himself, the Emperor of the Nippon Clans sent the Crown Prince to Lycaili as an emissary. We didn't know he was the Crown Prince; he was veiled until he reached Lycaili and don't ask me why because I simply do not know, but a visit from such a person meant we needed to resurrect some truly ancient customs." An odd look played on Xavien's face as he remembered it. “They were charming, if a tad long."

“Why?"

“Because the Nippon Clans are far more formal than even Ungoliant," Xavien said. “And it would have shown disrespect not to receive the Emperor's emissary with all the formality with which he arrived."

“I meant, no, I meant, why did he come?"

Xavien nodded. “That was, and remains, a matter of fulsome debate. I don't pretend to know. He had private words with Lord Teodor, and then … announced that the Emperor was offering one of his sons – His Serene Highness, Prince Lyo Kelvin Oto, as Consort to Lycaili. Most unexpected. And unprecedented. Even Teodor was taken aback, I think."

“That is … is that …"

“It's not unusual within the Nippon Clans; they often are gifted Imperial Consorts, sons of the Emperor, but … General Un declares it is unheard of for the Emperor to offer a consort outside of Nippon. Without precedent, as I said." Xavien tossed his shoulders back in an odd gesture of confusion. “Why offer one to Teodor, then?"

“Offer … did …" and Dacien thought for a moment. Not Teodor, nor Lord Teodor, but … “did my Father accept?"

A soft grin crumpled the ebon muzzle. “You may well ask! Lord Teodor did not say yes, nor did he say no. He thinks it will be a fine thing for Lycaili, but … he wished to meet His Serenity first."

“Pardon me," said General Osaze. “But this is an …"

“Of course," said Lord Xavien.

“His Serenity is expected to arrive here – in Leviathan – in four days. Lord Xavien has counseled – and I have agreed – that we should wait for them, so that we may escort His Serenity," the General said. “Again, this goes against the strictest interpretation of my orders, but I consider it the right course …"

* * *

Guildmaster Iudas and Guild Senior Dellios had offered to host them while they waited for Prince Lyo, even though their house lacked room for nearly a hundred bulls. Rooms were set aside for Dacien, Bryant, Xavien, and Osaze. The commandos stayed with Dacien and Bryant; Dusan had been pulled aside by General Trevor. A number of other warlords stayed in the house, and Generals Osaze and Trevor put a rotating patrol and stationary guards around the house. It seemed excessive to Dacien, but Xavien seemed to take it for granted.

It seemed odd, somehow wrong, for the six – seven, if one counted Socks, who knelt quietly by Dellios – of them to be eating while the rest of the troops ate on tables hastily assembled on the front lawn, but Iudas assured them they were eating exactly the same food. Dacien found a certain amount of humor when he realized that Iudas' discomfort was because he lacked formal flatware and place settings to serve everyone. “I never thought we'd need more than fifty settings," he said, at least twice where Dacien overheard him.

The second time he attempted to apologize, Dellios had taken him aside for a hasty conversation, and when the six of them finally sat down after serving themselves from the buffet – sausage, fruit, rye bread and cheese, and warm pan-cakes with butter and sweet preserved peaches – General Osaze opened the conversation by saying, “I am astounded, Guildmaster, at your generosity and … capability. This is a vast improvement on army meals."

The Guildmaster looked at him, and then Dellios. “But …"

“In the field, it's generally something savory but mostly oatmeal in the morning, and stew at night," Dellios confirmed. “Tea, from cauldrons. This is … not what I was expecting, actually."

“And here I thought you would task me for lacking eggs," Iudas said with a half-chuckle.

“Eggs? Fresh eggs for a hundred? Lord Xavien is a mage, and even he couldn't do that," General Trevor said.

“You challenge me?" Iudas asked with an amused tone.

“No …" said General Osaze, shaking his head in negation violently. “Indeed I meant no such thing. On behalf of my Master, Patriarch Teodor and my men, I thank you for your generosity and an amazing breakfast. I assure you, this is so far beyond our expectations …" he looked at Xavien for a moment. “I would never have imagined you could provide this on such short notice."

“No?" said Iudas. “It was not entirely short notice. I had some expectation of an arrival in force, although … this is more than I'd anticipated. And you are staying longer than I'd thought, not that you are not welcome, you are welcome, of course, and I hope you will stay, that is not …"

“Thank you," Xavien's voice cut off Iudas. “If there comes a point where one finds welcome and cheer far beyond what could be expected, and even if a mere thank you feels flimsy, well, so does everything else. I assure you, Guildmaster Iudas, Guild Senior Dellios, that you have placed both myself and Lord Teodor so deeply in your debt that words do not suffice."

“You are welcome," said Iudas. “More than welcome. I hope I may atone – that is, if you can bring yourself to forgive my clan's involvement with Scylla – however deep that goes. And it does not touch on Leviathan's debt to you for unmasking these … criminals who stain our honor."

“I am not sure everybull sees it that way," murmured General Trevor.

“Shame to them then," said Iudas angrily.

“Coz," Dellios said, as the rest of the table stopped eating to stare at Iudas.

“They have made us – Leviathan – us! – complicit in this outrage," said Iudas, his voice rising. “Shame to them! Shame!"

The entire table, with the exception of Dacien and Socks, were staring at Iudas with shock.

“I don't disagree," Dellios said in the ringing silence, “but …"

“But nothing," snarled Iudas. “These … these … dungscrapers, less than that, stole sons from fathers, brothers from brothers, and then …" he took a breath. “I heard what they did to your warrior Kant," Iudas ground out. “Nothing, nothing could …" and he stopped, and Dacien realized the green bull was crying, tears leaking from his eyes, and he seemed to wilt.

“Forgive my outburst," Iudas said, in a calmer, if emptier voice. The Guildmaster stood up, tears still running from his muzzle. “I beg your forgiveness, I … I had best be elsewhere. Please, carry on without me. Del is more properly the host than I, in any case …" he said, stepping out almost blindly through the door behind him.

Dellios, who had stood, simply watched his cousin walk out, and seemed to slump slightly before he pulled himself back up. Socks nuzzled up against Dellios' leg, and the jade minotaur put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“We have distressed our host," Osaze finally said into the stunned silence. “I am not sure how, but I most humbly beg your forgiveness, Dellios, and his."

“There is nothing, nothing; you have not upset him, not you." Dellios said. “He is … I knew … he had reacted badly to your disappearances, Dacien, Bryant, and when he heard what happened to Kant … I'm afraid this brings up old, old pain for us that is … no, no, do not apologize, it is a pleasure and honor to aid you, all of you, in this, but still, my cousin is … has never quite recovered."

“I do not wish to ask if it will cause further distress," Osaze said quietly. “It seems there is some pain, you called it, of which we are unaware. I would ask how we may, if we can, avoid causing further upset."

General Trevor sighed. “I do not think you can. It is, by rights, Dellios' tale, but I do not think he will wish to repeat it."

“No," Dellios said brusquely. “I do not," and he stared at the door his cousin had gone through. “But perhaps you will relate it while I look in on my cousin, briefly? I would … appreciate that, General Trevor. Socks, stay here. I will return in a few minutes." Something about the look he gave Trevor said, please have finished by then, and then Dellios, too, had left the room, in search of his cousin.

Every head turned to General Trevor, who shook his head sadly. “It is an unhappy tale. Iudas' father Stalkes died some … ah, some eight or nine decades past, or so, I'm not quite sure. He was a merchant, but … he died in a freight accident. It fell on his son to unwind his business affairs, and he did not have the same business acumen that Stalkes did. He not only lost his money, but monies held in trust for Dellios. To be fair, it may be that Stalkes was closer to failure than we thought. I don't know who was at fault, father or son. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither."

“But Guildmaster Iudas is one of the most successful financiers in the west," Xavien said, sounding puzzled.

“Indeed he is," General Trevor said briskly, in the manner of one determined to get through a story quickly. “His older brother Xerxes, however, was not. In any case, faced with … ruin, essentially, Xerxes sold himself to cover the debt to Dellios – and the remainder went to Iudas."

“But …" started Osaze.

“Xerxes vanished. Money appeared. Iudas took possession of it, but even he never managed to track the funds back to the buyer," General Trevor said. “In part he amassed his fortune to repurchase his brother, but when he couldn't even find Xerxes … he has spent – some would say squandered – great sums seeking his brother. Without success, obviously. Nobody has heard anything of Xerxes, not a whisper.

“Which is, I fear, why your disappearances affected him so," General Trevor finished, looking at Dacien.

“Thank you for telling us," Lord Xavien said somberly. “I did not know that. When I met him, I saw only the banker. I … I wish I had taken the time to look further. I might have made friends with a most remarkable bull. I saw only a pinched merchant."

“Pinched merchant?" said Dellios, returning to the table, his own eyes suspiciously bright. “Not what I expected to walk in on."

“Is your cousin well?"

“No," Dellios admitted. “His emotions have have been taut, obviously, ever since Mage Dacien's arrival – and before you regret that, please know that he is overjoyed for you, and would not wish to have missed a chance to play some part in uniting you," and Dellios nodded to Dacien and Bryant, “with your Clan," and Dellios turned to Lord Xavien and General Osaze, “for anything. It has given him great pleasure, when few things do.

“He is simply overwrought. He will recover shortly, and he begs your forgiveness for his emotions, and … his sharp words."

“There can be nothing to forgive," Xavien said, and heads nodded around the table in agreement as he continued. “General Trevor has explained that no one has been cut more deeply than the two of you."

“Sharp words?" Dacien asked Bryant quietly.

“Later," said Bryant, but Dellios' eye rested on Dacien curiously for a moment.

“I have … heard the accusation of my cousin being, ah, parsimonious. It is true, but," and Dellios paused for a moment. “He has good cause. He does control a vast fortune – but it is not his. He personally takes only a small stipend. Although I accepted the money from Xerxes' sacrifice – Iudas did not. Those funds are held in trust for Xerxes, and my cousin will not touch those monies. Even the stipend is what I pay him – what he will accept, that is, because I would gladly share anything of mine with him."

“I didn't know that," General Trevor said.

Dellios nodded. “Few do. He is perhaps not … entirely rational on the subject, and I will beg your indulgence for him on this topic. And this is not pleasant conversation with which to greet the day. Surely there is some better event on the horizon?"

“Yes," said Lord Xavien. “I thought I would take a few warriors, and pay a visit to Thousand Iris Place. I am hoping that Grandmaster Wolachya might be in, for I have a few words to say to him."

“What could you have to say to him?"

“I have been considering that," Xavien said cheerfully. “But I think the traditional words are best. You have offended me, and I will be satisfied. Draw a circle. I had considered appending contemptible coward, but I am uncertain of his personal bravery."

In the ringing silence that followed that remark, General Trevor finally asked, “You intend to challenge him to a duel?"

“I do," said Xavien.

“He'll kill you," General Trevor said flatly.

“I grant that is possible," said Xavien, and then his voice turned cold. “Beyond the many insults they have offered Lycaili, these Scyllans slaughtered slaves under my protection, who looked to me."

“Would it not be better to take him for questioning? Surely Lord Tarragon could …"

“No," said Xavien. “Indeed no. They will get nothing from him."

“How can you be so sure?"

Xavien turned a cold stare on General Trevor. “Because of what happened to Kant, of course. Before he can be questioned, there will be some suicide trigger that will destroy his mind."

“You can't know that," General Osaze said, “Lord Xavien."

“Can I not?" said Lord Xavien, and he turned to Trevor. “General Trevor – what do you think?"

“I think …" and the General sighed. “If all is as you suspect, I would lay money you are right."

“Given that, I might as well indulge myself in the personal satisfaction of killing him myself," the ebon bull said.

“But … he will kill you," General Trevor said. “That will not be satisfying to your Guard."

“I am a senior General, more than accomplished at tempus, an Armsmaster, and moreover, I have the right to challenge him," Xavien said calmly. “By Leviathan law, as well as Lycaili."

“You do," General Trevor said carefully. “But this is Grandmaster Wolachya. He … he trained the Patriach's Master of Time. He trained me. He's … he's beyond good. Lord Xavien, however accomplished you are, he's one of our finest Grandmasters."

“Yours? I think not." Xavien said emphatically. “The rest, I admit I have heard as much. I'd hate to think I was taking advantage of him. When his pelt is ragged and worn out from years of service as a rug, and it is tossed on the midden by some steward who has long forgotten any significance it might have had – I will sleep the more soundly for it."

Both Generals looked at him, and Xavien simply looked back. “Yes?" he said. “Am I, do you think, too angry at this abuse of my dependents?"

“I know you were very fond of your lens, Lathe, but … yes, I think you are letting your bond with him color your decisions, Lord Xavien," Osaze said softly. “And perhaps … there are other considerations affecting you."

But Xavien had been just as outraged after the first attack, Dacien thought, remembering with that horrid passionless detachment Xavien's towering rage after that incident. “I …" and then he paused, trying to work out the right way to say it. “I cannot agree," that seemed safe, challenging the statement indirectly. Dacien didn't want to even hint that Osaze was lying. “I was with …" and he paused again, trying to figure out how to refer … “Lord … no, I was with Teodor and Xavien when the first attack happened. I was there, General Lord Xavien was no less determined then, given his losses, than he is now." Dacien offered Xavien a slight smile, noting that the ebon bull looked a surprised at it. “At the time, that anger was the only grace I found in him, even if … he expressed it strangely."

“How, strangely?" asked Xavien. “I ask only because I wonder how I seemed to you."

“You seemed upset not for your slaves, but that your protection of them had been breached – but I understand better now. They are the one and the same to you."

“Thank you, Mage Dacien. I had not … expected that," and then Xavien looked back at him sadly. “Ah. Something I have not told you. My lens Lathe – as I'm sure you gathered – was killed. When Lord Cresphontes was assassinated."

“I am sorry for your loss," Dacien said.

“You may not know that once, you called him Erik," Xavien continued.

“Erik!" Dacien said, shocked. “He's …"

“Yes. He was …" and Xavien was quiet for a moment. “I do not know what I might say to ease your pain, Dacien, when I cannot ease mine. Saying he was one of the best lenses I ever worked with is no praise of him, but … I found him praiseworthy. He found adjustment difficult, but … he succeeded. In spite of my errors. He was happy in his role, finally. I do not know how close you were to him?"

“Not … not very," Dacien said. “Passing friends, at best. But …"

“I failed him, Dacien, and that tortures me. I cannot express my regret sufficiently at my failure to protect him."

“Yes," Dacien said. “I think I understand better, now. Thank you for that, Lord Xavien."

“I have taken a sudden interest in lenses," Dellios said, almost awkwardly, looking at Dacien curiously.

“Yes, I imagine so," said Xavien. “And I wish to discuss …"

“First," said Dellios, interrupting Xavien, “I think this is rather heavy for breakfast conversation; such topics retard proper digestion."

“So it is believed," Xavien said politely. “I beg your forgiveness for raising them."

“I wondered if your explaining why being 'one of the best lenses' is no praise would invoke such weighty matters."

“I do not think so," said Xavien. “You wonder, then?"

“I do."

“Magework is an active thing; it requires focus, concentration, intent, and craft. A lens, on the other hand, is as you find him. A mage may learn to better work with a lens, but that is the extent. It is a passive role."

“And yet I have heard of mages acting as lenses?" General Trevor asked, sounding almost interested.

“Have you? Well, so we do, when the need arises. And a mage may observe how he is used, and learn a great deal with which to make himself a better mage – but not a better lens. You see? There can be neither praise nor blame for a lens as a lens." Xavien gave a wintry smile. “For the need, for the teaching, for the experience – yes, nearly all mages act as lenses."

“So magery subsumes lensing?" asked Dellios.

“As a craft, yes, but we are reaching those extremely weighty issues that … do not agree with breaking fast," Xavien said.

“Then we need a new topic," said Dellios. “General Trevor, did you have any plans for the day?"

“I had thought to meet Lord Tarragon at Thousand Iris Place a little later," Trevor replied. “Although it would seem Lord Xavien has complicated my plans."

“I beg your indulgence for the inconvenience," Xavien said. “But I must insist."

“Part of those plans were to request Lord Xavien assist in coordinating with Lord Tarragon," General Trevor added.

“Of course," Xavien said. “There are a number of persons at Thousand Iris Place; six whom I rather suspect are nin – forgive me, I do prefer your term commando, and an ebon whom I suspect is Wolyacha, but as nobody has yet addressed him by name, I cannot be certain."

“You … I thought scrying took two mages? And an air mage?"

“For traditional scrying – yes," said Xavien. “What I am doing is not air magic, and I cannot imagine a way of sharing the perception with you. Suffice it to say I sense them, and I can explain it no more than I could explain music to the deaf."

“How far can you sense?" asked General Trevor. “This is earth-magic? How far does it extend?"

“Earth and water both," said Xavien. “As to how far … until this morning, perhaps a mile, more or less. Things like borders interfere; one can only sense dimly what is beyond them unless one is seeking a well-known anchor."

“Until this morning?"

“When I tried this morning, I found my range much improved," Xavien said. “Much of a muchness, really. Thousand Iris Place is, what, five miles from here?"

“Approximately …" said Dellios slowly.

“Then I now estimate my range at seven miles, more or less." Xavien looked thoughtful for a moment. “It varies a bit within that. I am not sure why."

“That is quite a change," said Dacien, shifting his head toward Socks.

“It is extremely strange," Xavien answered. “But … again, we are dancing on topics best avoided. Still. Guild Senior Dellios, would it offend your sensibilities to discuss a small matter of business at breakfast?"

Dellios shook his head slightly. “No."

“Then I wish to offer for your slave," Xavien said. “Would the sum of ten thousand suns be too paltry?"

Dacien glanced at Socks, and the human was following the conversation and trying not to look like it. Anxious, that was the feeling he was getting.

“Well, that is an offer," Dellios said coolly. “But there are two things, one of which you are aware of, and one of which, I think, you have missed entirely."

“Oh?" asked Xavien.

“First, you are planning to challenge the deadliest bull I know to a duel later today," Dellios said dryly.

“I would suggest, if I may, that you know at least one bull deadlier, but I allow the point," Xavien said.

“And secondly, you might have noticed the marks of favor he is wearing. All three."

“Two, yes," Xavien said, “certainly but …" he cocked his head at Socks. “The restraint is a mark …"

“It is," Dellios said with satisfaction. “He offered it to me."

Xavien stared at Socks, who blushed. “I … well." The ebon seemed to consider for a long, long moment. “I withdraw my offer, and beg your forgiveness for the insult – unintended, I assure you."

“An understandable confusion, Lord Xavien," Dellios said. “I took no offense from your misunderstanding; I was certain that on correction … you would understand."

“But I really do not know what I could offer," Xavien admitted. “I have a lovely estate, but House Green is entailed."

“That's unfortunate," Dellios agreed. “That sounds like the right kind of offer."

“I beg some time to consider an appropriate offer," Xavien said thoughtfully. “Might we reopen this discussion at dinner? It will moot your first point, and … I must closely consider the second; I freely admit, it is the point that most concerns me." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned to Dacien. “Perhaps I should challenge your ingenuity to assist me," he said, “in stead of your father's."

* * *

The plaque still read Thousand Iris Place, but the road up to the house was no longer deserted. An ebon – Wolachya – stood in the center, waiting silently with six commandos. Even the two pristine minotaurs among the ebon marque blanque and pristine marque ebon had that quiet, docile intensity that Dacien had come to know and loathe from his own time with the stolen commandos-in-training.

Lord Xavien and General Trevor led their combined force up the path, and stopped, some twenty yards from Grandmaster Wolachya, and Dacien quietly confirmed that that was, in fact, Wolachya Scylla to Lord Xavien. Xavien's nostrils flared ever so slightly as he stared at the other ebon bull. It would not do for Wolachya to unleash his ninja, Xavien thought, and sent his magic curling into a carefully considered spell.

“Trevor," Wolachya said. “Why do you come, with these aliens?"

“To ask questions, Grandmaster," started Trevor.

“Bah," interrupted Xavien. “You have offended me, Wolachya Alexander Scylla, and I will be satisfied. Deny your involvement with Scylla – truthfully – or draw a circle. I presume you will take the cowardly choice."

“Do you?" snapped Wolachya. “I will indeed meet you in a circle."

“As I thought," Xavien said, the contempt in his voice clear. “I add to your myriad offenses contemptible cowardice."

“Lord Xavien," started Trevor.

“Do you imagine yourself my match? I will kill you," Wolachya said. “Unless you dishonor yourself with magic."

“You are a fine one to toss that word in my face," growled Xavien. “Honor! What would you know of it? Countenancing assassins, the slaughter of the helpless, the mental rape of your own clan's children – there is only one word for you. Shame. You shame every Alexander, every ebon, every Scyllan, every bull, and every Leviathan who trusted your false allegiance."

Wolachya drew his sword. “You will recant those slurs as you die," he promised.

“Only if you deny them – truthfully. Your deceit is contemptible, as is your evasion of the charges."

“Lord Xavien!" shouted General Trevor. “I will have my questions!"

“Your questions are pointless without his answers, and he will answer nothing," said Xavien. “But … I defer only until you see it is hopeless to wring truth from this …" and Xavien paused. “I do not know what name to give it. Foul beast will have to do."

“Grandmaster Wolachya, I charge you in the name of Lord Nahor Leviathan, to answer," Trevor said. “Is there any truth to Lord Xavien's wild accusations?"

“You'll never know. Kill them," said Wolachya, gesturing, and the commandos started forward, but … paused mid-spring, briefly, before falling to the ground, motionless. The bulls with Xavien and Trevor looked similarly puzzled.

“What have you done?" snarled the ebon snarled.

“Given what you've done to those unfortunate bulls," Xavien said coldly, “I have removed non-combatants from the field."

Wolachya made a short motion, then paused, and glared back at Xavien.

“Nor will tempus function while I so will. It is an artificial veil," Xavien said. “Tricky to construct, and it requires a great deal of magic – I doubt there are another five mages who could hold such a thing without a device of some sort. But I leave you, Wolachya, your skill at arms, which I have challenged. You may draw a circle at your convenience."

“And you consider this honorable?" sneered Wolachya.

“You are deprived of tempus, I of magic – you are undoubtedly ignorant that a mage can hold but one spell at a time," Xavien said flatly. “It seems fair to me. Generous, even, since, as an honorless brigand and mindbender, you could be taken down by magery. This, at least, offers death by combat rather than whatever suicide charge is implanted in your mind."

“There is no suicide charge …" started Wolachya.

“They didn't bother telling you, then," Xavien observed. “It hardly matters, although it suggests your master is at least as corrupt as you."

“My …" Wolachya shook his head, and raised his sword. “Nothing more remains to be said," walking forward.

“No circle?"

“Just die," Wolachya said, and then he was on Xavien with a feint that failed to draw Xavien's blade out of line. Xavien deflected the actual attack, and responded with a complex lunge and attack – Wolachya danced back, out of the way, and Xavien advanced, his own bladework swift and careful as he blocked, over and over, Wolachya's attacks.

“You're a little slow," Wolachya observed. “And weak on the right."

Xavien said nothing, other than to smile ever so slightly.

“Observe," said Wolachya, and launched a series of attacks and feints – on Xavien's left. Xavien blocked them with the same careful moves – Dacien wasn't sure if Xavien was forcing Wolachya back, or if Wolachya was leading Xavien back, towards the motionless commandos. What … what was he …

A moment later, it no longer mattered. In a surprisingly tiny – almost gentle – movement, Xavien tapped Wolachya's sword out of the way, and set the blade right through the other's chest in a long, extended lunge. The mage pulled back, leaving the sword in Wolachya's chest. The bull looked down, at the blade, and opened his mouth to say something, but he simply collapsed, falling first to his knees, and then, overbalancing, and falling backward.

Xavien regarded the body, and then turned to Trevor. “Have it skinned. Dispose of the carcass as you see fit."

“Lord Xavien!"

“You are the authority, are you not? Is it not your duty to see to this place, and –" he paused, looking at the motionless ninja. “And these are rightly yours to deal with as well."

“Deal …"

“They are suffering nothing worse than fatigue toxins," Xavien said. “As if they had driven themselves to exhaustion. They need no more than water and time to recover. But you should take care to let Lord Tarragon see them before they return to consciousness. I suspect they have death spells embedded."

“Suspect?"

“I am no air mage," Xavien said. “I suppose I could wake one up and we would see – but I would rather not, since if my fear is justified …"

“It would kill them," Trevor finished. “Yes, of course."

“And Lord Tarragon is due here, is he not?"

“He is," said General Trevor. “But …"

“After such a battle, I am fatigued," said Xavien, sounding not a bit so. “I will take my guard, and Dacien, and return to the good Guildmaster's hospitality. I trust you and Lord Tarragon will join us. At your convenience," he added.

“But don't you wish to be here …"

“This is Leviathan's business," Xavien said. “Not Lycaili's. I was here only in a private capacity, to see to a trifle of personal honor."

“But, the gate …" started Dacien.

“The gate … you did mention a portal," Xavien said with a sigh. “I had not given the matter thought. You are entirely correct, of course. I should examine it." He turned to General Trevor. “With your permission, of course, since this is entirely a Leviathan matter, and while I certainly wish to offer all assistance, I do not wish to intrude if you would prefer to handle the matter entirely internally." The ebon minotaur gave a short bow.

“Your assistance is kind and most welcome," said the General, in a perfunctory tone. “Where is it?"

“Behind the house," said Dacien, leading the way.

What had been a garden surrounding the now-destroyed statue had been cleared, and circles of chalk had been drawn carefully over the grounds. Steel tripods held strange bronze instruments, long tubes, devices to measure – or set – angles, and an assortment of oddments.

“I do not recognize most of this equipment, but it is ritual gear, yes?" asked General Trevor, taking it all in.

“I would think so," said Xavien. “I recognize the theadolite and magnetic sextants, but …" he paused at strange brass device composed of multiple rotating discs of thin metal, with a weighted plumb line suspended motionless between three of the disks, and peered at it closely, careful not to disturb it. “I think this may be an aditor, although I've never seen one with calipers before. I'm not sure what it's intended to measure … "

“An aditor?"

“I've never used one myself; it's …" and Xavien paused. “I don't know. I have no idea how to use an aditor; I merely came across a description of one in a book that discussed the fabrication and tolerances for ritual equipment. No ritual I am aware of uses one. I've only seen the one description, and that only described it, it did not discuss what is was used for or even what it did." He turned about, taking in all the preparations. “I suspect this is ritual preparation for portal construction, given that all of this is centered on an overlap, although … much as I dislike the admission, this is all strange to me." He grimaced. “I had thought I was knowledgeable about such things, enough to at least know what I don't know, but … apparently my ignorance runs deeper."

“It is strange to me, as well. But you mentioned an overlap," asked General Trevor. “Like … a border?"

“A not-quite-border," Xavien said. “A place where a border might have formed once, or may form someday, or … in any case, one needs to have an existing overlap to construct a portal. There was a portal here, but …"

“I tried to destroy it," said Dacien.

“Since there is no portal here now, you succeeded," said Xavien after a moment. “Without catastrophe, as well. Nicely done."

“Can it be reopened? Is it active? And … catastrophe?"

“It is not active," Xavien said, and he extended his magic. The far side was difficult for him to sense, far murkier than even a border, and time flowed … just a little faster there. And something … he probed, and encountered a heaviness.

“Magic is always risky, but the overlap is blocked, I think, effectively," Xavien said softly, but he could work around it. Sense around it. The other side seemed warmer, but that might just be the temporal differential. No, it was real, it was warmer, in full sunlight. A garden, he thought, feeling the familiar sense of roots threading through soil, and leaves fluttering in a light breeze. “I would have to study this before I ventured a guess as whether I might dismantle the ward. I could – and will, if you request – provide a barricade on this side, as well, but given the strength of the existing block, Lord Horse will have ample time to take action. Still, it bears some examination … a moment, if you please …"

The glimmer of magic brushed his senses. Faint, but precise: ritual work, he thought. Was someone trying to build a block? Remove the block? Connect to this side? Spy on them? What …

No, it wasn't affecting the overlap. Nothing to do with the connection. But someone – several someones, he thought after a moment of consideration – were spellworking. He could sense the complexity of the spell, and it sat strangely in his mind. It reminded Xavien of something … unpleasantly so.

Puzzlement gave way a moment later to recognition. This was the Xarbydis effect! They were poisoning … no. This wasn't the Great Spell itself, but a … modification? What mad fools would invoke such a catastrophic spell, much less alter it as they worked it? Insanity! And what was it meant to do?

Repressing a shudder, Xavien delved more deeply into the working, trying to intuit its purpose, its function, its effect. He tried not to wonder, tried not to guess, let the ineffable structure of the magic reflect in his own mind. He ignored the increasingly fractious voices around him as irrelevant, and set the distraction aside. This was important, more than important, Creator magic being levied to do …

To do what?

It wasn't instantiating the Xarbydis effect, that turned everything to poison, not manipulating it, but …

But what?

Affecting the poison itself, he realized. Drawing it in, in some ghastly and ironic inversion of the spells that cleansed poisoned material, casting it away into the void. They were poisoning their realm, Xavien realized, drawing Xarbydis-tainted dust, water, stuff from … from where, Xavien couldn't tell, but it hardly mattered. There was only one realm he knew of poisoned so: Xarbydis itself. Therefore, this realm must either lay in the farthest outskirts of Xarbydis, or had some boundary with it.

They wanted Xarbydis poison? To cover their tracks, to make it impossible to follow them – fury followed his understanding like a tsunami.

They wanted poison? They wanted to draw that agonizing deathly corruption into their realm?

Very well, Xavien thought coldly. The thought that there might well be nobody so deserving of the deadly stuff as they ran through his mind in a vengeful counterpoint. Have it. Xavien gathered his own power, and prepared to infuse it into the working, to pull the invisible and inevitable death into their realm a thousand times faster, to suffuse the far side with death. Choke on it. Die.

Magic poured into him – far more than Xavien had expected. Ten, a hundred, a thousand times as much, and Xavien faltered in surprise, letting it dissipate, letting it disperse outward. More voices echoed unimportantly around him, but he didn't permit it to distract him – not when handling this much magic. From whence –

– Socks, he realized instantly, as the surge of magic gave him a flash of understanding, just for a moment, as everything stood out in the outwash. The bulls around him, the few humans cowering in the house, the humans and bulls in the surrounding fields – too fast to count, too much to get more than the vaguest impression, but there was a similar echo from the far side – from the realm he had been about to poison, or at least, help to poison.

Hundreds of bulls. Thousands of humans.

What was I doing, Xavien thought, as he realized the sheer enormity of the massacre he had been about to unleash. The blood he would put on his hands – and Sock's. “What … no, no, NO!" he howled, swallowing the rest of the power, letting it backlash through him, and with a supreme effort, he – somehow – shielded the distant human from the backlash.

It didn't spare him, of course, but that was what Dog was for. The magic burned through him, like the worst kind of temporal backlash – and Xavien had just enough time to wonder if the two were related – before the pain hit. It was like being torn apart, shredded at the smallest scale. It probably would have been painless, Xavien thought between heartbeats, if the set-spell that Dog maintained hadn't kept it from being instantly fatal.

Socks … the human … had no such set-spell, and Xavien simply endured, pulling the power back, into himself, for one … two … three … four … five heartbeats.

It was over, in no more time than that.

Socks was … alive, and seemed well. Sitting? Kneeling? He couldn't quite tell, his senses seemed a little blurred after … but the human was alive, and not convulsing in pain … to some extent, then, he'd succeeded.

Perhaps entirely. He would have to see …

Xavien shifted his focus back to the here and now, to see the garden completely overgrown and entangled with vines. General Trevor and Osaze, and a few of their guards, had managed to stay ahead of the explosion of green, and were helping less fortunate bulls to extricate themselves from clinging vines. Grapes had thrown woody vines over everything and even trapped several bulls.

“Ah …" he said, his voice sounding rusty to himself. “Forgive me. There was … a surge."

“I felt it," Dacien said dryly, as he pulled vines – grapevines? – off himself. “Can you … release us?"

“Yes, of course, …" said Xavien, and let his awareness slip back into the green wood – flexible, rendering it flexible and malleable, and the group quickly shrugged the growth off of themselves.

Xavien took a breath, let it out, and slapped a quick barricade across the overlap, tying it to the grapevines, tangling the thread of magic into the vines.

Massacre averted. He looked at General Osaze, explained softly about the barricade, and that Lord Tarragon would be there – soon, and then added, “My business here is complete. Osaze, I wish to return to the Guildmaster's, if General Trevor has no further need of me."

“Not at this time, but my Master may wish to speak with you."

“I am at Lord Nahor's pleasure while I am in Leviathan," Xavien said, turning to leave. “But I cannot stay beyond His Serenity's expected arrival."