Chapter One

The House of Lord Fog

Commander-of-Ten Dacien grunted as his captors - traitor-humans! - pushed him forward ungently. The battle of Mog Ford had been a disaster; minotaur infantry and wolven skirmishers had ambushed Commander-of-Thousands Harrock, and the Seventh Imperial Army had pretty much dissolved into chaos. Here and there, a Commander-of-Thousand or a Commander-of-Five Hundred had organized some resistance, but the minotaur and wolven had timed their attack perfectly - most of the Army was still fording the river when the wolven attacked from behind - and out of nowhere. The scouts hadn't seen a thing; the best intelligence they'd had was that Clan Lycaili was still trying to ally with Clan Ouroborous, and their forces were at the Howling Pass.

Not at Mog Ford.

And certainly nobody had expected the minotaur would ally themselves with the bastard barbarian wolven - the wolven threatened both humans and minotaur. But that was the only explanation; the wolven had just materialized in the rear, at the worst possible moment, and Harrock had turned the army around to meet the light skirmishing forces - really, there was nothing else to do unless he wanted to lose the entire baggage train - and the supplies that would sustain the Army.

But then Lycaili minotaurs had appeared on the far side of the ford. The cavalry had just been slaughtered, caught mired in the waters, and even the infantry hadn't had time to set up a defense. They'd attacked almost completely by surprise as well - and coming after the wolven forces in the rear, they'd turned a serious blow into a total rout. Dacien himself had been in the front, in the Eagle Banner Hundred, one of the few Hundreds to react quickly enough. It hadn't been enough. A minotaur wasn't invincible or invulnerable, but they were damn close. A minotaur was evenly matched, he'd been told, against five humans who knew how to fight together.

From his own observations in the battle, he thought they were better than that. They'd certainly chewed through him and his men, even though the Eagle Banner had been ready for the minotaurs. His part of the battle had been brief - a huge minotaur had struck him with a war hammer, and that ended his participation in the fight, a mere twenty minutes or so into it. He'd woken, bleeding but miraculously still alive, later that night. He'd thought he was lucky when two humans wearing Imperial medic sashes wandered by him.

He'd seen the ruptured bodies of some of his own men, and his own commander. His own wounds were serious - they took him to a huge tent with other wounded men, and left him for a while - it had been another couple of hours before a healer looked at him, and then another day until a healer could actually work on him. He'd been relieved to be in the Imperial hands.

Only, he wasn't. He'd found that out on the fourth day. Even while his bones were being set, he'd seen men released in small groups, and wondered. But the medics wouldn't talk to him, or anyone, other than to tell him the first priority was getting the wounded mobile.

Mobile! On the fourth day, only the seriously injured remained. They'd been blindfolded, and a mage had been called in to heal them. His leg had been reset, the bone reforged. He hadn't seen the mage of course, anonymity was one of the best protections a mage had, so he still hadn't questioned what was happening.

He'd been so trusting. Fool. He had lain there, while a medic had whispered, "This will probably hurt," and given him a soft wooden plug to bite. It had hurt just as much - and maybe more - than getting his leg broken had. It had been over quickly, thankfully, the searing pain fading quickly to a dull ache that had vanished over the next hour. And he - and the remaining twenty soldiers - were now mobile, and they were marched out of the healer's tent.

Dacien had walked out into the middle of an unbelievable scene. He was surrounded by humans - led by five minotaur - and he was being marched away from the battleground as fast as they could go. And, since the wolven were busy smoking meat in tens of little hastily-built smokehouses, he'd been grateful to leave. Five days of forced marching - with none of the burning questions answered, other than the most obvious that he was now a minotaur prisoner, had left him tired, dirty, and just a little bit scared. Nobody knew what the minotaurs did with their captives, but he'd known what the wolven did. Dacien just wished he hadn't been there to see it. And smell it.

He shuddered, involuntarily, and the traitor-human pushed him forward again. If he just had his sword ... But of course he didn't, and he was manacled, and the two men behind him had shortspears. Defiance would get him nothing, not yet. They'd marched him into a city, of sorts, low stone buildings with roof-patios built into the side of a hill, and then into this cold stone hall. One by one, the other men with him had been pushed through the door. A few minutes later, in response to no signal that Dacien could see, they'd send another.

And now it was his turn. He drew himself up, and before they could shove him again, he stepped through the door. It closed immediately behind him, but he was already studying the new room. In that it was cold gray stone, it was much like the old room. It was furnished - if one could call wall-ornaments furnishings - with huge, oversized weapons. Minotaur-sized weapons. Huge swords, massive daggers, and even a war hammer that ... wasn't the one that had hit him, of course, but looked just like it.

And two minotaurs; just like the ones that had crushed the Seventh Army nine days ago. The first wore nothing but a loincloth, none of the heavy armor he'd seen previously. The creature was huge; at least seven feet tall, and massive, like the heaviest wrestler Dacien had ever seen, all covered in a short-furred brown pelt. Sitting farther away was another, wearing a dark purple robe over a soft cream. They had to to be two of the most handsome creatures he'd ever seen, but Dacien had hardly a moment to look before the first one twisted his mouth in a snarl, and the minotaur just moved -more gracefully than Dacien would have believed possible - forward in a sudden glide and six feet of razor-edged steel sliced through his tunic, shearing the fabric and leaving a thin line of red. Dacien stepped back and glared at the creature. "What's that about, you bastard?"

It dropped the sword down. "A determination, human, as to your disposition," it said in the deepest voice Dacien had ever heard - and flawless Latin. "Remove your shirt."

"No," started Dacien but the then sword leaped back up again.

"I can remove it for you," the minotaur said, coldly. "Human. One."

Dacien eyed the blade, and then nodded, and began taking the ruined shirt off. He held it uncertainly.

"Drop it," the minotaur said, and, mindful of the sword, he obeyed.

"Turn around ... keep turning ... keep turning ... slowly ... keep turning ... stop." Dacien had turned around twice, and was facing the wall, away from the minotaur. "Raise your arms, no, not in front of you, to the sides - yes. Hold them straight out, just like that. Don't move."

He heard a tap-tap, and he felt something - a finger, run down the curve of his back. Dacien turned and had bunched his fist up, but the minotaur caught Dacien's fist, his huge furred hand grasping Dacien's hand easily. "Bad human," the minotaur said with a growl. "I didn't say move. I know I didn't say punch."

The minotaur's grasp tightened on Dacien's fist. "Apologize."

Dacien brought his knee up into the minotaur's crotch, as hard as he could - or at least he tried to. The huge creature twisted slightly, keeping Dacien's hand trapped and forcing him around, and then twisting his arm up behind him. "Not 'knee'. Apologize." The pressure increased to the point where Dacien stood still - very still. He didn't want his arm broken. The minotaur began increasing the pressure slowly - very slowly.

"Stop," another voice said, almost tiredly. It belonged to the second minotaur, this one with a cream-colored pelt and short horns. "That's sufficient. Enough. He'll do."

The pressure on his arm relaxed instantly. "What band?" the minotaur asked.

"Blue, please. I want this one sent to Lord Fog."

"He won't ..."

"He will. Simply tell him that he's the one who has the best chance of succeeding with one."

The minotaur released Dacien, and walked over to a ledge. He came back with a blue cloth, which he proceeded to knot loosely around the human's neck. "I will," the minotaur rumbled, "but he will ask if this is the word of Lord Chimes, or merely steward Ruus."

The other minotaur snorted, a surprisingly bull-like sound. "He will, won't he. Well, in this matter, I speak as Lord Chimes. As Ruus, though, I say it's his duty, and and I don't care to hear otherwise."

"I will tell him," the minotaur said. "He won't like it."

"No," the cream-colored minotaur said softly. "He won't."

He'd been left alone then, thrown into a small windowless room with a cot and a blanket - a cell, really, although it didn't have quite the oppressive feeling of a prison. The door was locked, though, when he tested it.

The first minotaur returned for him later; perhaps two or three bells. By the time his new captor had dragged him out of the winding stone city and up into the low hills and up to a tall stone house, the sun that had been overhead when they started was now just setting. The path had taken them up onto brush-covered rolling hills, and a cool haze had turned into a thin evening mist. The minotaur hadn't said much to Dacien, other than to issue curt instructions, but he had furnished the human an old wool blanket. The jaunty blue and red of the original weaving had faded to a sadder blue-gray and brown, but it was clean, and it even had a faint scent of herbal soap. Dacien had wrapped it around him, and it had warded off the chill of the day easily.

The evening promised to be colder, though, and Dacien was already shivering slightly as they drew near a stone wall. There was a small plaque, but Dacien couldn't read the Greek inscription. "What does that say," he asked, without really expecting an answer from the taciturn minotaur.

"It says 'Mistingrise House,'" the minotaur said. "You can't read Greek?"

"No," Dacien said.

"You speak it well enough. Can you read Latin?"

"No," admitted Dacien.

"Well, it's Lord Fog's problem," the minotaur said.

"Why is it a problem?"

The minotaur snorted, that weird bull-like sound that Dacien realized must be laughter of some sort, but didn't answer. They walked along the stone path through the carefully-tended garden inside the wall until they reached the largest of the stone buildings - Mistingrise House.

The house was large; not huge, but large, with wings extending out at the right and left and a huge garden in the front. A fountain held a statue of a tremendous minotaur, covered with a deep green patina, at least fifteen feet high, water gushing forth from a cornucopia carried triumphantly on his shoulder. The water splashed into a marble-rimmed pool at the base, and Dacien thought he saw a huge white fish for a moment before it flicked its tail and vanished. The anatomically correct statue definitely showed that minotaurs had a different sense of modesty than humans, and Dacien forced himself to look past it.

The door was answered by a human wearing a soft gray tunic and trousers, and a heavy steel collar. He looked at the minotaur first, of course, and then glanced at Dacien - a longer glance, for some reason, as if Dacien surprised him.

"Lord Fog is not at home," he said, after a moment.

"This is not a social call. Lord Fog is at Mistingrise, the thing is obvious. Inform Lord Fog that Trand is here on behalf of Lord Chimes," the minotaur replied.

The servant - more likely a slave, Dacien thought, blinked, and nodded nervously. "Yes, Sir," he said. "Will you come in?"

Trand led us into the wood-lined hall, thick rugs muffling the sound of his hooves on the floor. The human wore sandals; Dacien couldn't help but look at the collar welded around his neck. A moment later they - or rather Trand, and Dacien in his wake - were shown into a tiny room with a couple of chairs. The room had no windows, nor a fireplace, instead being lit by a soft glow emanating from tiny beads of stone set into the ceiling. "In the name of my Master, be welcome to Mistingrise House. Would you care for a drink, Sir?"

"I'll get it," Trand said, as he entered the room. "Please let Lord Fog know I'm here."

"At once, Sir." The human turned, and went off, quickly.

The minotaur studied the three decanters sitting on a small table for a moment. "Knowing Teodor, these are probably bespelled water," he said after a moment. "Still, it will taste like brandy." He poured himself a glass, and then, after a moment, poured a second, and offered it to Dacien. "Here."

Dacien sipped the golden liquid - he'd expected it to be something like mead, but it was stronger - much stronger, and he nearly choked on it. The alcohol burned his lips and mouth for a moment, but then it had a smoky, almost evanescent flavor that was ... good. Very good.

"Thank you," Dacien said, after a moment.

"You need something to warm you up after that trip," Trand grunted, sitting down. "Sit. On the floor, not in a chair."

"I'll stand," Dacien said.

The minotaur looked at him, swallowed the rest of the brandy, and set the empty glass down. "Sit. Floor. Now."

"I'll stand, thank you," Dacien repeated.

Trand rose angrily, but anything he was about to do was interrupted by the arrival of a handsome, gray-coated minotaur. This one wore a light shirt and trousers much the same colorless gray that the human servant had worn, but in his case, it matched his pelt perfectly; in the dim light it was hard to say where the cloth stopped and the fur began.

"Trand! It's a pleasure, a very unexpected pleasure, to see you, even if you do come from Ruus." The voice was deep, like all minotaurs, but rather than gravelly or lowing, this one flowed like thick mead.

"Ah, you won't say that in a minute, Lord Fog."

"Teodor, I am Teodor."

"Thank you, Lord Fog, but I am, as I told your slave, on business."

"Then conduct your business, and we can get on with more civilized matters."

Trand snorted. "Lord Chimes sends his compliments, and presents this human to your attention."

The gray minotaur's huge black eyes widened in surprise. "I know you, Trand, and I do not think you'd jest about such a thing. But the corollary is that you're telling the truth, which is ... scarcely less astonishing."

"I do not jest, Lord Fog. Lord Chimes says you are most likely to succeed."

"Lord Chimes says. Not Ruus."

"Not Ruus, Lord Fog."

"And why should I, even if I am, accede? Does Lord Chimes have an answer for that?" the minotaur asked sharply.

"He does, Lord Fog."

"Does he," the minotaur spat out. "Perhaps you would enlighten me on this, for I declare that I do not see the justice of the claim."

"Yes, Lord Fog. First, Ruus points out you have a duty to your clan."

The gray minotaur opened his mouth angrily, and then shut it, saying nothing for a moment. "Yes. Ruus is correct. Barely."

"Next, Lord Chimes asks you to consider the corollary to the point that you are most like to succeed."

The gray minotaur started, and then sighed, as the anger seemed to drain from his expression. "Yes. Of course. Inform Lord Chimes that I accept."

"Lord Fog - Teodor - please," Trand said. "Your opinions are known, as is the strength of your feeling in the matter. Your first reaction was anger at the imposition - and it is an imposition, I know it, even Lord Chimes - Ruus - knows it. But you would have realized ... I know you would have. And what can Ruus - Lord Chimes - do? If you are the most apt to the task, than how could he lay it on another?"

"He could not," Teodor said dully. "Nor should he. Nor would he. And yet ..."

"I'm sorry," Trand said.

"You will stay the night, of course."

"I don't wish to impose," Trand started, but Teodor cut him off.

The gray minotaur shook his massive head. "No, if anything, it would ease my mind if I knew you were safe here rather than out on the moor. The paths are treacherous, and not entirely of this world, especially in the mists and moonlight. I would feel better - much better - if you waited until sunrise. Please."

"There are borders around here?"

"Unstable ones," Teodor said solemnly. "And that I say as Lord Fog. Some lead to his world, that I know, and others I have not yet walked."

"What do you mean, my world," asked Dacien suddenly, and then felt the weight of two minotaurs regarding him. Teodor recovered first from his surprise.

"I mean the world where you come from, human, which is not this one. There are a few places where one may step with certainty from your world to this one, Mog Ford being the best example." He looked more closely at the human. "And, I must wonder, for what possible reason are you making free with my brandy?"

"I offered it," Trand said quickly. "It was a long walk here, and if I was cold ..."

"I see," Teodor said, continuing to stare at the human. "Do you have a taste for it, human?"

"It's pretty strong. And my name is Dacien."

Trand's eyes narrowed, but Teodor waved him down. "I believe you put this human in my care, did you not?"

"I did."

"Then I will deal with him," the gray minotaur said thoughtfully, and then turned to face Dacien directly. "Trand is upset, human, because you did not address me with the respect of a slave for his master, and because you offered your name - considered rude, when it has not been asked for. I, myself, do not chide you for these things, because you are newly-come to this world, and do not yet know your place in it."

"Thank you," said Dacien.

"This is intolerable!" said Trand, rising from his chair. "My Lord Fog, I beg your leave to manner this human."

"And you think a beating would inculcate better manners?"

"It would teach him to hold his tongue!"

"And yet I think that's my responsibility," Teodor said. "Would you be content if he addressed me as 'Sir?'"

"It would be a start," growled Trand. "Yes. But he won't. Not without a good reason to. He's a stubborn, disobedient ..."

"No, he's not." The gray minotaur's voice had gone flat. "You are expecting him to react as a native human would - and he is not a native human. To expect him to act as such is irrational."

"Then he needs to start learning," Trand said equally coldly.

"Quite right," Teodor agreed. "But permit me to instruct."

Trand sat back down, radiating repressed anger. "If you insist."

"Perhaps a wager? A ... a bottle of this brandy as forfeit?"

"That what?"

"That I can, without beating, or any physical intimidation whatsoever, get this human to call me 'Sir.'"

"Done," said Trand, settling back. "I'd love a bottle of that to take home."

"I note it." Teodor turned to look at the human, and his voice lost the chill of a moment earlier. "Human, it is desirable that you address me as either 'Sir' or 'Master.' Am I correct in assuming that you won't just do this?"

"Yes," said Dacien.

"You see ..." started Trand.

"I believe I said I'd handle it," Teodor said, waving Trand back down. "Please ignore my friend, human, he's not used to anything but humble obedience from slaves. But ... you address your officers as 'Sir,' do you not?"

"Yes," Dacien said.

"Your honor demands it, that you show respect to those set above you."

"Sort of," Dacien said.

"Sort of? Your manner suggests that you are not one to call someone 'Sir' merely because they might threaten you with violence otherwise. So it is not intimidation, then, that calls you to use the word."

Dacien thought about that. "No, not really. I mean, yes, that's right."

"So it is a manner of honor. Your honor, and theirs?"

"I'd never thought of it like that, but ... yes, I suppose it is."

"So you would address an officer as 'Sir'."

"Yes."

The gray minotaur nodded. "And a - pardon, what's the word, surgeon? One who heals through physical manipulation of wounds? Suturing, sewing, that sort of thing?"

"Chirurgeon?"

"Would such warrant a 'Sir' from you?"

"Yes," Dacien admitted.

"What about a ... senator of your Empire? Would such warrant a 'Sir'?

"Yes," Dacien said.

"And is that a 'Sir' from intimidation, or a 'Sir' from respect?"

"Respect."

Teodor nodded agreeably. "Consider this, then, human. I am an officer - equivalent to your commander-of-thousands. I was both your advocate and healer at Mog Ford. The reason you weren't left to the mercies of the wolven was that I insisted all survivors be given medical care - and I myself healed your leg. Otherwise, you would not have been able to leave Mog Ford under your own power - and so been a wolven prisoner, rather than ours. Can you then honorably call me 'Sir?'"

Dacien looked back at the minotaur. "I think I could."

"If?"

"If I were called by my name, rather than 'human.'"

Teodor simply sat back in his chair. "Very well, Dacien. I see no dishonor to me - or you - in using your familiar designation."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Thank you, Dacien." Teodor turned to Trand. "Well? I leave it to you to judge who wins."

"He's not showing the respect of a slave to his master," Trand said after a moment. "But he is showing respect, and the wager was that you would be addressed as 'Sir'. You win. I'll have to go find some brandy when I get back to Maze. Is there a vintage or vineyard you favor?"

"There is," Teodor said. The gray minotaur stood up, went over to the bookshelf, and, moving some books out of the way, produced two bottle of brandy. "I am inordinately fond of Two Hawk apricot brandy - these. I would be honored if you would accept these as a token of my appreciation for bringing Dacien out here tonight."

Trand stood, bowed, and took them. "I believe this is my forfeit, Teodor," and he offered one back.

"You are honorable in defeat, my friend."

"I hope to be as gracious in loss as you in victory, Teodor."

"Now ... Dacien. Are you, perchance, hungry?"

"Yes," he said, and then added, "Sir."

Teodor nodded appreciatively. "Then you should eat. Trand and I will have dinner shortly ... but I doubt you'd care for a minotaur's supper; you'd find it unpalatable. I've asked Butler to come show you to your quarters - temporary; I'll settle you in here tomorrow. I know things will seem strange to you; but it is my intent to treat you honorably, in the expectation that your behavior, in turn, will be honorable. Will that suffice for now?"

"It will, Sir," Dacien said. "It's more than I expected."

Trand cringed.

Teodor just snorted. "He intended a compliment, and I take it that way. Where ..."

The door opened, and the human who'd opened the door for them stood there, silently.

"It seems this human - please refer to him as 'Dacien' - will be joining the estate for the foreseeable future," Teodor said after a moment. "He'll want dinner, a bath, warm clothes, and ... somewhere to sleep, I think. The Unicorn Rooms are ready for guests?"

"They are, Master."

"Put him there, then. Trand will be joining me for dinner, and I've asked him to stay the night as well. I think he'd like the River Suite. Or the High Suite. Whichever is ready."

"Very well, Master. Should dinner be moved forward?"

Teodor nodded. "Yes. Have Cook ready it now; call us when it's done."

"Very well, Master. Will there be anything else?"

Gray eyelids closed over Teodor's eyes for a moment. "No."

"Follow me, Dacien," Butler said, and Dacien did. The conversation between Trand and Teodor faded as they walked down the corridor, into a kitchen with three more gray-clad humans preparing food, and then into a small dining room off to one side. "Our dining room," Butler said, after a moment. "The rest of us have eaten; I'll have Cook get you a plate."

"S'done," a voice said, slowly. One of the three in the kitchen handed Butler a platter full of bread, vegetables, and cheese.

"Dacien, this is Cook."

"Hello," he said.

"You know they don't like that," Cook said. "I like my skin on my back, thank you."

"Master said he was to be referred to as 'Dacien'."

"Bad habit," Cook said, turning away. "Get us into trouble. Maybe not with Master, not this time, but others. Bad habit."

"What's a bad habit," Dacien said, after the other two humans turned away from him.

"Calling you by name," Butler said. "Slaves don't have names."

"I'm not ..." Dacien started, and then stopped. "I don't know. What's ... what's the punishment?"

Butler stood still for a moment, and then turned away as well. "I don't know," he said. "I don't want to. Dacien."

"Then why are you ... because he ordered you to."

"Yes," Butler said, almost unwillingly.

Dinner was almost painful. As hungry as Dacien was, the almost hostile silence made the food unpleasant. He choked down the rest of it, and then looked up at the four men - slaves - working on the upcoming dinner. "Er. Butler? Should I call you that?

That one put down the knife he'd been using to cut radishes, and turned around. "It will do. Are you done? Dacien?"

"You ... you don't have to call me that, if it bothers you."

Butler shook his head.

"Not in every sentence, then," Dacien added suddenly. "He didn't say that."

Butler handed the knife to Cook. "If you're done, Dacien, please come this way," and set off down the hall again. They went up a narrow flight of stairs, through a tight corridor, and then into through a small door into a huge sitting room. "I'll lay out clothing for you, Dacien. The bath is through here." Butler walked into a large bathing chamber, and twisted knobs set in gleaming gold pipes. Steaming water began to pour out into a huge porcelain tub. A huge towel sat in a silver rack by the tub, as did several smaller towels.

"There are three doors in the suite that are closed, Dacien. Please do not open them or go through them. I will leave all the doors to this suite open - it's just this room, the sitting room, the bedchamber, and the dressing chamber. I'll get clothing for you, and leave it on the bed. Don't come back through the servant's hall, either. If you need anything - pull that rope. Somebody will come see to whatever you need." Butler paused for a moment, and then proffered a jar. "Soap. Is that everything you need?"

"Yes," Dacien said.

"Thank you. Dacien." The human walked off, leaving Dacien to study the tub - it was simple enough, he supposed. One knob controlled hot water, the other cold water, and there was a drain connected to yet another golden pipe that ran from the underside of the tub into the floor. But how did the water get hot?

Magic, he supposed. It hardly mattered as he shed his clothes, and slipped into the hot water.

Once he'd finished, he wandered back into the sitting room - where two of the doors Butler had mentioned stood closed. He was tempted to open them, just to see what was there, but he thought better of it. Teodor - Lord Fog - had offered to treat him honorably if he, in turned, behaved honorably. That sounded very much like giving his parole to Dacien, and he wouldn't break it.

The bedroom had a fireplace complete with a newly-kindled fire; Butler must have lit it before leaving. A set of fine gray linens - like the ones the other human wore - lay on the huge bed. Dacien sighed, disliking the thought of putting on slave-clothes, but what choice did he have? He didn't want to put his old dirty clothes back on - maybe he should wash them? The tub would work for that, too, he realized suddenly. But they'd take a long time to dry.

Maybe in the morning, he decided, yawning. The warmth of the fire and the inviting cheerful red-and-blue quilt on the bed convinced him he might as well try to sleep. He pulled back the blankets, and stared, stunned, at the gray silk sheets. He'd seen silk, small brightly-colored scarves and tiny bolts of fantastically embroidered cloth, impossibly priced.

The minotaurs used it for sheets? And pillow-covers?

The mattress itself wasn't a featherbed, but it was almost as soft, and possibly warmer. Dacien sunk happily into the bed, pulled the sheets and quilts up over him, and found himself dozing off faster than he'd expected.

The room was the same. The paper on the walls was different - wildly colorful. Where today is was gray-toned and gray, now it was brilliant green vines interspersed with cerise and magenta blooms against a brilliant sky-blue pattern. Nevertheless it reminded Dacien of the cool gray designs he'd seen earlier - now. This, though, was a dream.

The bed was the same; although again a brightly worked quilt of red and blue triangles covered shimmering white sheets - these, at least, were not silk. They were smooth and slick to the touch, and the thread was so fine he could scarcely tell they were woven. He lay awake in bed, possessed by a terror not his own, dreading ... Dacien knew not what he dreaded.

He?

She. Dacien was a woman - naked, under the covers, and she was almost wetting herself with an intense, gut-twisting dread that was worse for not knowing just what it was. Despite the warmth of the room, she was cold, her skin tingling against the slippery sheets, her nipples taut.

The door swung open and - although Dacien would have said it wasn't possible - the fear increased, along with another sensation. Her heart pounded as the scent of salt and pine reached her, and she whimpered involuntarily. The smell was comforting to her even as it alarmed her; and it was oddly familiar - even pleasant - to Dacien as well. She couldn't believe this was happening. Not to her. Not at all. And ... not Him, oh, how could it be Him.

She said nothing, just listened to the soft footfall, closer, closer.

"Please," she said softly.

"Shhhhh," a deep minotaur voice surrounded her, and a hand stroked her hair. "Is that the way to speak to your Lord and Master?"

"No," she whispered, turning away from him. "Forgive me. But please, Master ..."

"No," echoed the deep voice, with a hint of anger, and the covers flew off her as the hand was withdrawn from her hair. "Look at me."

She obeyed, and there was no hesitation in her whatsoever however much she trembled in the doing. "Master," she acknowledged quietly, and looked up at the large minotaur. Dacien looked through her eyes at him; he was handsome, dark-furred and muscled, the image of her God even when he was quietly angry at her, and she wanted him, even as Dacien wanted him - wanted him as a woman wants a man and a slave wants her master - and she knew she shouldn't have him; she feared having him. Angry. He was angry.

She gasped in horror as that washed over her. She had angered him.

The dream twisted as Dacien was just puzzled; the woman was horrified. She began sobbing, caught between her horror at her own disobedience and some other, less discernible terror.

Hands caught her, brought her mouth to him as he embraced her, letting his hands roam gently over her body, a loving touch that she yearned for, desired with all her heart - and feared. She struggled suddenly, catching him momentarily by surprise, sliding out of his gentle grip, but he just followed her down to the bed. He supported himself carefully, never letting his full weight fall on her - just enough to emphasize that she was his. Her legs parted for him, simply because she knew he wished it and she could not oppose him but the terror stabbed deeper into her, and when he entered her - gently, for such a large creature - she couldn't breathe, not even to beg for her life. Dacien moaned along with her; although from pain or pleasure he could not tell.

She was going to die; her Master had sentenced her to death; and however wonderful she felt, however good it was to have her Master take his pleasure of her, she knew she would die of what she would bear. The sheer ecstasy of feeling him, though, overrode it. Pleasure surged through her, both from the rhythmic stroking of her deepest self, and even more from knowing that of all his slaves, He had wanted her - her alone. She sighed, surrendering to his touch and invasion, even to the certainty that of what would follow, as slow, languorous waves of the intense sensation washed over her, as His hands stroked her head, her hair, her face. The hard slap was painful - a surprise, and Dacien gasped as the sting came again.

The slap was harder, more insistent, and Dacien opened his eyes into the bedchamber - and yelled with surprise as a naked minotaur towered over him. His first dream-muddled thought was that the monster from his dream was here to rape him, too, but then he saw that this one wasn't the black-and-brown one from his dream, but the silvery form of Lord Fog, wrapped in a fine gray silk robe hastily tied. It did little to conceal the form of the minotaur himself. And Teodor was talking - calling his name. The fire was out, and the room itself was filled with a fine misty haze.

"Dacien? Are you awake?" The minotaur paused as Dacien instinctively pulled himself back.

"Just ... just dreaming. Lord Fog. Sir. I'm sorry if I disturbed you ..."

"No," the minotaur said calmly. "You were not just dreaming. You were having a vision of some kind, and an unpleasant one. Describe it, please."

"It was nothing, really ..."

"No," the minotaur said again, almost with a forced patience. "It was not nothing. I am a mage. You, Dacien-human, are a potential mage, and you just had an experience - perhaps your first, perhaps not."

"No," Dacien started again, only to be cut off by the minotaur.

"Are you usually a bed-wetter?" the minotaur asked, amused.

"What? No ..." Dacien started, and then realized he was, indeed, wet. He felt his face getting hot. "Oh. I'm sorry, Lord Fog ... I ..."

"It's common to lose control of certain bodily functions that one prefers to keep under control when having an uncontrolled magical incident," Teodor said, after a moment. "But given that, the ... well, there's no sensible Latin word for it, but the presence of magic that indicates some kind of working, and what appears to have been a vivid dream - I'm pretty confident that your magic, whatever it is, is waking up."

"But why ..."

"Why now, yes, an excellent question." the minotaur said. "First, magic feeds on magic. I doubt you've ever spent time in a mage's presence before, and even if you have, I doubt that mage was deliberately infusing you with magic. Which, I admit, I did.

"Why did I do that? Well, I was hoping for ... this, that your own latent magic would become active. Although I was expecting it to take longer - usually, this sort of reaction happens in a time scale of months, not hours. That is unusual ... I do not recollect a similar incident ..." the minotaur's voice trailed off. "So unusual, I think it's worth considering a little more fully," the minotaur said, his voice regaining its usual rich timbre.

"Well," Teodor continued. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we can consider further." The minotaur reached out a hand, and pulled Dacien up, out the bed. Dacien started for the bathing chamber, but Teodor shook his head. "No, in here, please."

"Okay," he said.

"I thought we had that discussion," the minotaur said, stopping. "That's 'okay, Sir.'"

"Yes, Sir, we did."

"I can't say that I care very much," Teodor said absently leading the way into the sitting room. "But it will save you all sorts of trouble, I assure you."

Dacien privately doubted that the minotaur was as blasé as he claimed, but ... Lord Fog was right. They'd discussed it, and Lord Fog had convinced him to call the minotaur 'Sir.'

One of the doors in the sitting room - one of the doors he'd been told not to open - was now open, and the gray minotaur walked swiftly through it. Beyond was a larger room, the walls lined with glass-fronted cabinets. The cabinets themselves were filled with scrolls, rolled maps, and even one or two bound books.

"Please don't open the cabinets here - or any cabinets, please," the minotaur said. "The papers can be easily damaged by magic, and by myself, I leak enough to wipe a library clean. I've no idea what your influence might do yet, but ... well, it's rare that it's not an inconvenience of some sort."

The room beyond was a small reading room, a softly glowing glass sculpture of a kneeling human on a plinth lit it, and peculiar benches - almost more like chairs with cushions, and again, everything was done in muted grays, even to the wood table. The wood was walnut, but rather than the warm wood tones of black walnut, somehow the table had been bleached, leaving only a faint red stain against the now-gray polished wood.

Another door led to another bathing chamber - this one much larger than his. The tub was huge - his was sized for a minotaur, but this one could easily hold two, or even three. The room had a touch of color - bright red tiles set randomly here and there against more of the ubiquitous gray tiles, and the tubing here was silvery, not gold, and a tube extended up, almost eight feet, from the tub while a silk modesty curtain - gray, of course - hung about the tub on yet more silvery tubing. The minotaur tucked the curtain into the tub - and fiddled with some knobs, and then water began spraying down into the tub from the tallest plumbing. "There," Teodor said. "Throw the clothes into the hamper. The water's warm - it shouldn't take you more than a minute to rinse off."

The human removed his clothes, and dropped them into the gray wood box the minotaur had indicated. Dacien looked around, the single and ubiquitous color triggering a thought. "Does your leaked magic makes things gray, Sir?" Anything, he thought, even magic, would be better than having to think about the huge male right beside him.

Teodor paused for a moment by the tub. "Essentially. Not everything; it doesn't affect metal or some porcelain and enamels. I just get most things silver or gray now to spare myself from having to watch the color fade. I find it depressing to watch."

"Does it happen that fast?" Dacien asked, stepping under the water - a little hot, but it did feel good to rinse off. He just let the water play over him while Teodor spoke.

"It seems to," sighed the minotaur. "I wasn't born like this. I was roan - almost red. It's not a common coloring, and ... well. Let's just say I learned a painful lesson about personal vanity. It took about four months, from when my magic awoke to go from a brilliant roan to this nondescript shade of washwater. Even my instructor - Lord Ember - lost his coloring over the next year. It came back, though, for him, after I left. And you can expect your hair and skin to go gray, too, although, like Lord Ember, it will probably come back if you ever leave."

He stepped out, and the minotaur - rather than wrapping him up in the towel, as he'd expected, proceeded to dry him off with it. That's not something Dacien would have expected from the formality he'd shown earlier, and he found himself reacting to the male's attentions, but Teodor seemed to ignore it.

"There," Teodor murmured. "Now. Come in here, please."

"Could ... could I have a robe? Sir?" Dacien asked, a little uncomfortable and embarrassed.

Teodor looked puzzled for a moment and then shrugged. "If you want," he said, with blithe unconcern. The minotaur loosened the tie of his robe, wordlessly pulled it off, and handed it to Dacien. "It may be a little large on you," the minotaur said.

It was more of tent on him; the robe dragged on the ground, and the tie was somewhere around his knees. Dacien just pulled up the sides, and started walking back to his room.

"No, through here," Teodor - now quite naked - said, opening a second door in the bathing chamber. "In here, please."

This was a bedchamber - and Dacien quickly realized it was Teodor's bedchamber. Silver candelabras by either side of the bed held three crystal candlesticks that glowed with the same soft light the sculpture in the other room did. The bed itself was huge, large enough for four minotaurs, by Dacien's estimate, had the covers thrown back indicating the occupant had left hurriedly. Everything was gray, of course, the same silvery shade that Teodor himself was. "Get in bed," the minotaur said, and went over to a massive wooden dresser where he poured a golden-red liquid from a crystal decanter into two crystal glasses.

"What?"

"You can't sleep in your bed, it's wet," Teodor pointed out in reasonable rumble.

"I could sleep on one of those chairs," Dacien said. "I don't want to inconvenience you,"

Teodor snorted. "Neither of us has a choice about that, Dacien-human. Any more than you have a choice about this. Besides, this is actually turning out to be quite interesting. You're not unattractive, for a human, and I'm curious about what sort of magic flows through you. Get in."

"No," said Dacien, taking a slow step back towards the door.

Teodor carefully set down the two glasses on the nightstand, and ...

The room got grayer, somehow. The light seemed to waver, as if seen through a sheet of water. The gray minotaur himself was gone; the glasses were still there where the minotaur had set them down a moment ago. Dacien swallowed, blinked, and turned back towards the door.

Only it wasn't there. He'd walked through a door in that wall - a big wooden door, large enough to make even a minotaur seem small, and it was just gone. The wall - he'd thought it had been carefully painted, but now, as he examined it closer, was covered in fabric stretched along the wall - a pattern of ghostly gray vines against a finely-spaced gray-on-gray checkered pattern. The fabric itself was ... not silk, he thought, but as fine a weave, and perhaps finer. He couldn't imagine what a bolt of this cloth would fetch back in the Empire; the workmanship was unimaginable. And minotaurs used it to decorate walls?

Whatever it was, there was no break in it to give him a clue about where he'd come in. His fingers reached out, brushed the surface, and he could feel the delicate pattern under his fingertips. There had been a window, too and another door - but they had been swallowed up as well. He turned back, through the wavering light.

The dresser was gone. It had stood directly across from the bed, and the decanter and glasses had rested on it. He walked over, anyway, examined the plush gray carpet, ran his fingers over the fabric of the wall, but it was gone. The nightstands were gone as well, taking the candelabra with them - but then where was the light coming from?

It seemed to be sourceless; casting no shadows, even the underside of the bed was illuminated in the watery, wavery light. It had to be a trick, an illusion of some kind, but try as he might, he couldn't see through it. It was the light, Dacien thought. It was ... heavy, somehow. He turned around, and began examining the carpet. He could see his footprints in it, and - yes, the minotaur's hooves made clear impressions - but they didn't show him where Teodor was, even if he was still in the room.

He looked at the bed; at least it was still there. He walked over; he could even see the faint depression that Teodor had made in it. He just stared at it; and finally, he pulled himself up into the bed, and over to the side. He didn't usually sleep with a pillow, so he moved that out of the way, and pulled the covers up.

"Drink?" asked Teodor, who was now standing right by the other side of the bed, holding the two glasses. He held one out to Dacien. "It's a wine; a sweet one. It's made from frozen grapes - no, please don't ask me how one juices frozen grapes. I presume the grapes are thawed first, but I don't know."

Dacien took the glass and had an exploratory sip. The minotaur had described it well - it was almost unbearably sweet, and the alcohol in it burned his mouth. "How ..."

Teodor merely grinned. "I did mention I was a mage - Lord Fog, in fact. Checking the carpet for my hoof imprint was clever. I was impressed."

"It didn't work," Dacien said glumly, taking another small drink of the wine.

"An idea doesn't have to work to be good," Teodor said, slipping the covers aside, and getting into bed himself. The minotaur yawned, a deep tone that sounded almost more like a musical instrument than a yawn. "Middle of the night," he sighed. "I had no idea I'd be having this discussion with you at such a terrible hour.

"And yet here we are," Teodor continued more seriously. "You were going to tell me about your experience." Teodor let out a breath, and was silent.

"It was a dream," Dacien said, after a moment of silence.

"Yes," encouraged the minotaur.

Dacien glanced over at the creature next to him. From here, he could smell the slight salt-and-spice scent of the large creature. He took another gulp of the thick wine. "I don't think it was very interesting. Sir."

"I certainly wouldn't question your opinion," Teodor said agreeably.

Dacien said nothing.

"Still," Teodor said after a moment, "I think we can agree that I have some greater experience with matters of magic?

When Dacien said nothing, the minotaur continued. "Can we agree on that, Dacien?"

"I suppose," the human said quietly.

"That is a yes?" the minotaur said.

"Yes. Sir."

"Good," Teodor said. "And so when I say there was magic involved, you would agree that this is probably the case?"

"Yes, Sir." Dacien admitted.

"I'm glad we agree," the minotaur said. "I think I need you to tell me about your dream. Even if, as you say, it wasn't of interest. There might be something in that, however dull it seem to you, be meaningful to me."

Dacien shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not. Sir."

Teodor nodded. "I understand. You saw something that distressed or upset you."

"Not really, it was ... hard to describe."

"Something that would embarrass you to relate," Teodor said.

"Not really ... I don't want to talk about it."

"You've made that quite clear," the minotaur said. "I should tell you, Dacien-human, that when you say something that is at odds with your beliefs, such as you did just now in saying that your dream did not embarrass you, I will know." He sighed, sounding almost embarrassed himself. "It's a fairly simple mage-trick. I'll teach it to you, once we're a little further along. There's a way to simple way to evade it, too, if you're a mage, but ... it's clear that one is evading." The minotaur gave Dacien a sly smile. "There's a more sophisticated way to block it that's practically undetectable. I invented it myself."

"I see. So you can lie with impunity, and I can't. Sir."

Teodor shrugged. "Impunity? No action truly has such; each deed has its consequence. For myself, I have spoken only truth to you, and will do so. I would consider lying to you to impugn my honor. There are things I have not told you, and things I will not tell you, but I have not lied about them, nor will I."

"Important things you have not told me, things I should know?"

"You would consider them so, yes. I consider them the opposite - things you should not know."

"Why shouldn't I know them? Sir."

Teodor closed his eyes, considering. "Because you do not know enough about things to understand them, and they would alarm and upset you. If I explained them fully - completely - you would fear them much less. But all of this explanation would take much time, and much demonstration, and much energy, and when it was all said and done, you simply would have had a false alarm at the best, or become troubled at the worst. And that is as much as I shall say. Understand, Dacien, this digression is over. We return to your embarrassing dream."

"I dreamed I was a woman, and a minotaur raped me," Dacien said. "There."

"Describe the minotaur," said Teodor, with a detached tone of voice.

"It wasn't ..." and then Dacien stopped as he realized claiming he couldn't remember it clearly wouldn't work. "Big. Tall. Muscular. Deep black. Short horns, straight. Big black eyes."

The gray minotaur nodded. "Did you perceive it in first person, or as a watching observer ... did you feel how the woman felt - her emotional state, or just watch from outside, as it were?"

"I felt what she was feeling," Dacien said, tightly.

"Was the dream ... focused on the anything? What was the ... most important thing in the dream? It might be something that seems small outside of the dream - mage-experiences are frequently like that. The most important thing might have been, oh, the color of the sky, and everything revolving around that."

Dacien thought about the question for a moment. "She wanted him, but was afraid of dying."

"I see," Teodor said thoughtfully. "I suppose that makes sense, yes ... I think I understand. Excellent." He yawned, and the lights dimmed, and the room was dark a moment later.

"Good night, Dacien."

"You know what I saw?"

"In general terms, I think I understand it," Teodor yawned. "Nothing to worry about. Sleep well."

Dacien listened to Teodor breathe quietly for a few moments. "How can you say that?" he finally burst out. "If you know, then tell me what the hell that was!"

The minotaur took a deep breath, and then released it. "We will discuss, in the morning, how you address me. I will confine myself to saying that yelling is appropriate only in very limited circumstances where there is threat of serious damage or harm. I understand you're frustrated; and I am sorry. It's late at night, and I forget that my assurance to you is not the assurance of a minotaur to a slave, which would put any other human in my house at ease, but something else, which neither I nor you fully understand yet.

"Now, this really is not a good time for full explanations, because as I've already demonstrated, I'm sleepy and inclined to make errors of judgment. So, Dacien, what you encountered was an impression of something that happened long ago, most likely between the previous master of this house and one of his slaves. Strong emotions leave traces, and ... repeated events can cause them to strengthen. Your gifts include some level of sensitivity to such things, which is obvious now.

"Now, as I pointed out - and went to some lengths to demonstrate - I am a mage. If you are close to me - within a few feet - I can suppress any further uncontrolled episodes of magic, and so there is nothing further to concern yourself with tonight. Is that better?"

"It helps," the human said. "I'm sorry I yelled."

"Accepted. Now, may we go to sleep, or are there further matters weighing on you?"

"What ... what was she so scared about?"

The minotaur groaned, and then sighed. "I suppose it would keep you awake, wondering what terrible fate awaited her and you. It's nothing so mysterious. Have you seen any female minotaurs?"

"No," Dacien said, after a moment. "I've ... I've never thought about that, but I haven't."

"There aren't any, Dacien. Our creators wanted us to have a reason to raise humans, so they provided a very simple one: we cannot reproduce without them. The most likely reason the female in your vision was scared is because there is a belief - mistaken - that a mother will die in calving."

"Your creators?"

"Ours and yours," Teodor said tiredly. "They are no longer present. We know little - very little - about them. They created us from humans, they set us over humans, and then they ... left. Now please, Dacien, go to sleep. Yes, I know you still have questions. What else about the creators? Why, how, what. And so on. But these answers will just bring different questions, just as perplexing, and most of them I cannot answer, because I simply do not know. Curiosity is a fine thing, I applaud it, but what we - you and I - need is sleep. The questions will still be there in the morning."

"Couldn't you just put me to sleep, magically?"

"I have such a spell, yes," said Teodor. "Are you asking me to use it, are you asking if I have it, or are you asking if I might threaten to use it?"

"A little of each, I suppose."

The minotaur a soft clucking sound, and the lights came back on - but dimly, casting the room into faint shadow. "If you ask, I do, and I won't."

"Could you ..."

"Help you sleep?"

Dacien nodded, although it was half-invisible in the faint light.

Teodor looked at him for a moment, sighed, and the light dimmed out again. Dacien felt a massive arm slip around him, and then another, and with a slight tug, he was cradled in the minotaur's arms, his head resting comfortably on Teodor's chest. "There," the minotaur whispered, and Dacien heard it more as a rumble through the creature's chest than as a spoken word. The brush of fur-clad arms caressed him, firmly, and Dacien found himself growing hard from the delicious sense of touch. The salt-pine scent of minotaur wrapped him, and boiled up through his brain as the minotaur gently, gently teased his legs apart.

"What ..."

"Ah." Teodor said, a deep amused tone. "This always helps me sleep."

By the time Teodor had finished his slow lovemaking, Dacien had climaxed three times; the minotaur arousing him, stroking him, and finally bringing him over the edge. The second time he'd screamed his pleasure. The third time, when Teodor joined him in a carefully-timed orgasm, he'd been unable to move, much less speak, for several minutes. Teodor had recovered first - quickly - while Dacien had simply lain there, trying to regain control of himself. The minotaur had produced a soft towel, and wiped the sweat from him almost tenderly, and then, as he began to recover, gathered the human into his arms in a loose caress. They talked, a little, the minotaur apparently very interested in his military training. Dacien fell asleep with his head on the silver-furred chest, and the salt-pine scent of minotaur surrounding him.