I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao © 2015 Onyx Tao

I, Dacien by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Conflict

---

Temblor - who had been Florus before his new minotaur master renamed him - looked up at his Master with carefully concealed dismay. He'd known this was coming; it had been clear from the brutal initial wrestling bouts where he'd been purchased. He'd only won seven bouts, one short of the needed eight to guarantee him a buyer - but Karol had paid out a handful of shining gold coins, put him in a harness with his arms tied behind him, and taken him back to the four-room suite that was Karol's home.

And now his.

Florus had adjusted faster than he'd expected, in part because his new Master was a lot kinder than he'd expected. He was still expected to keep the apartment neat and clean - but that was hardly any different from army life, and Karol showed him, very carefully, how to do everything. He'd already known how to polish steel, but he had to admit the valve-controlled water founts in the bathing room (and in a private room, at that!) had confused him until Karol showed him how they worked. He was even learning Greek - slowly, but his Master wouldn't permit Latin.

And, in the evenings and on Master's days off (Florus wasn't sure what Master did), if the apartment was clean to Karol's standards, and he'd learned his three new Greek words and he managed to remember the older words that Master tested him on - which was more often than not - life was actually very good. The food - when Master was pleased - amazed with both its variety and tastes, usually better than anything he'd ever eaten before. Even when Master wasn't pleased, it was still hot oatmeal with fruit or meat, and that was still better than the army field stews and pan-bread.

He could barely believe that he hadn't gone hungry or thirsty even once since he'd been captured. Once they'd reached the minotaur city, he hadn't been cold, either. He'd been punished - but never even as harshly as he'd been in the army. His new Master, Karol, had never even struck him. Karol hardly went beyond a mildly expressed disappointment, and informing him he'd be having oatmeal for a while.

The thick warm oatmeal sweetened with dried fruit and cream, or savory with shredded roast and juices was not, to Florus, any kind of real punishment. He had to admit, though, the food Karol brought back to his rooms was far better. Thick cuts of meat, elaborate twisted and layered breads, light cakes, even soups - Karol ate at least as well as any Senator did, and, when Florus managed to meet Karol's approval, so did Florus.

Still ... Florus was just a little uneasy around Master Karol.

Many of Florus' companions had turned to their fellows for relief. Florus himself would occasionally turn to a willing legionnaire's mouth but ... that had always been a matter of convenience, nothing more. Florus was a big man, standing several inches above most of his fellows, and he was stronger, too, and if everyone assumed that a man as big as he was was a little slow, he was happy enough to use that to his advantage. There was always someone who wanted a taste of what Florus had, and he enjoyed it well enough even if it wasn't a nice, warm, curvy, soft woman.

Master Karol, on the other hand, preferred men. He not only enjoyed them, but considered allowing Florus to sleep in his bed as a special privilege and treat. For the first month or so, Florus hadn't minded skipping that particular reward at all, and eating the plentiful oatmeal. Instead of sleeping with his Master, he lugged a feather-stuffed mattress out of the storage room every night, and set in front of the fireplace. Huge sheets of finely-woven cloth and several warm, thick blankets made it a pleasure to sleep there, providing a soft, warm comfort that Florus had never had before. Maybe Commanders-of-Thousands slept like this, or Senators. Not most Imperial citizens, and absolutely not mere legionnaires. Since the mattress was sized for a minotaur - and a big one at that - it was easily large enough for Florus, and again, that wasn't something he could say about most of his previous beds.

Except ...

When had it started? He just wasn't sure anymore. Master has been patient - very patient, Florus had to admit - in letting him adjust. He hadn't been allowed out of the Master's rooms during the first couple of weeks, and even now, going out consisted of his following his Maser through several corridors to a tiny gymnasium where Master showed him how to wrestle. Typically they would go out early in the morning, and wrestle for ... an hour? Two? They'd go back to their rooms, where last night's dinner had vanished to be replaced with a small breakfast of scrambled eggs, cold roast, or occasionally pickled fish and breads - small rolls, sweet breads with a thick, almost hard fruit stew and cheese. When Florus was in favor, Karol let him eat the food; when he wasn't, Karol ate it, and Florus had oatmeal, instead. There was more than enough to serve as lunch, too, and Karol usually went out mid-morning and didn't return until much later, bringing something home for a hot meal.

It was almost a month until Florus could confirm that Master Karol had some kind of job - Karol didn't talk about it. What he did talk about was wrestling, and how well Florus had done that day, and what his plans for training were, and other notable wrestlers - Riptide, Avalanche, Daisy, Carrolade, and Fierce. And always, always, Zebra.

That was the first night Master Karol took him to a wrestling match. Not to wrestle - Master said he wasn't ready yet - but just to see the event, understand what this gladiatorial business was about. Florus had preferred actual fights to wrestling, back in the Empire, but ... the minotaurs had different tastes. Master Karol had carefully shown Florus several forbidden holds, and told him that using one would automatically lose him the match. No blood, no breaking the skin - this was about superior skill, and harming one's opponent would not only lose points but displease Master Karol greatly.

As mild as Master Karol had been up to now, the tone of his voice suggested that Florus had yet to see Master Karol greatly displeased. Florus wasn't sure what that would entail, and given the softness of the punishments Master Karol has so far visited on him, doubted that even a greatly displeased Master Karol would be harsh. Still ... Master Karol had been more than kind to him. He found himself not wanting to disappoint Master Karol.

That night, though, the wrestling match left him shaken and wondering. There were eight bouts, and he recognized three of the men as former legionnaires - all of them announced as new wrestlers: Leopard, Trench, and Viper. He only knew Trench's old name - Doralt - but he recognized Leopard as the man who'd won that nightmare endurance bout, after they'd first reached the minotaur city. They were both showing hard, with an oiled sheen; and they eyed each other as Doralt took the low crouch position, and Leopard settled into the standing crouch.

The referee spoke a single, loud word. "Go."

Trench lasted less than ten seconds against Leopard; Trench sprang from the low position to tackle Leopard and the other wrestler - just twisted slightly, caught Trench by the hips, and slammed him down against the mat, pinning shoulder and hip to the mat. The longest part of the match was the midnight-black referee's calm count. To his credit, Doralt, no, Trench, Florus thought, hadn't stopped struggling, but it hadn't done any good whatsoever, and Master Karol asked Florus, "Did you see how he did that? I've shown you what you need for that, but ..."

"I think so, Mast ..." and his voice cut off as he watched Trench flip over - almost offering himself - no, not almost. He was offering himself to Leopard, who was slipping behind him - he wasn't going to - he was, Leopard was fucking Trench, fast long jabs for a minute, another minute, until Leopard howled his completion inside the other wrestler. They separated, a long glistening thread of viscous fluid connecting them for a brief moment before it parted.

No. No. No. No! But he had to ask ... "Master? Is that ..."

"What an amazing fellow that is," Karol said almost wistfully, and for a moment Florus thought he meant Trench, but no, his Master was staring at the muscled form of Leopard. "Chelm is such a good trainer ... but you're going to beat him, Temblor." The minotaur's voice changed, became more forceful. "I'm going to bring you to every match he's in. Watch Leopard, Temblor. Learn how he moves. See how he fights." The deep base turned almost cold. "You're going to take him down, and fuck him, Temblor."

"What ... what if I lose?" said Florus.

"Then I'll have to watch Leopard fuck you," Master Karol said, lightly. "And I wouldn't enjoy that half so much."

"But ..."

"Oh, don't worry. You're doing very well on the wrestling," Master Karol had said, in that same light tone. "The rest will follow."

---

How many months ago had that been? Four? Six? He'd lost count. Temblor - and he thought of himself as Temblor now - looked around the amphitheater; nothing was new and yet he was as uneasy as he'd been the first time Master had brought him here. This time, he wasn't here just to watch. This time, he was wearing the same loose smock as the other wrestlers against the coolness, and Master Karol held a bright red leather leash that led to the matching red collar around his neck. This time, he was here to compete.

No, not to compete, he reminded himself. Temblor was there to win. Master's strategy was simple; he'd held Temblor back, out of the matches, but trained him hard, and brought him to watch the other men. Trained him to watch their moves, learn their style. Anticipate them, and by knowing what - how - they would come at him, beat them. And Master had told him he'd have an easy match tonight: instead of a scheduled bout, he'd be a late entry. The late entries were almost always weaker wrestlers, either from their own lack of talent or their master's distraction, Master Karol had explained. He would fight, and then he'd be able to enjoy a well-earned release and then his own master would take him home, and he's spend the entire night under his Master.

Temblor wished he knew which he was looking forward to more. At first, the encounters with his master had been a treat, unearned, and he hadn't always looked at them as a treat. That had changed, of course, and as it changed, as Temblor began to want - need - his Master more, they'd gone from mere and occasional treat to reward. Oh, there were still occasional treats - but now, if he wanted his Master (and Temblor positively ached for his Master), he had to earn it. Train. Learn. Demonstrate his skill. Master wasn't stingy with his rewards (somewhere, he still wondered when it had become a reward but Temblor thought less and less of that as the days passed), but he earned those rewards.

Do well tonight, and I will reward you well, Master had promised. Temblor had to appreciate his Master's finesse, at least. Tonight, he would finally put all of that learning - training - sweating - to use, and pin back not one of his Master's sparring partners, but an actual opponent. He was a little uncomfortable not knowing who he'd be matched with; Master believed in understanding one's opponent, and tonight, for his very first bout, that wrestler could be any of fifty or so lower-ranked fighters. Whomever you meet will lack your skill and training. You'll best him easily, Master had said. Sometimes you can leverage your opponent's weaknesses, but tonight you will stand on your own strength.

He could do this. Temblor took a deep breath, and kept repeating that to himself while his Master led him through the gathered crowd to the owner's area behind the stage. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this!

"Remarkably good attendance tonight," Master Karol said, looking out over the crowd and sounding pleased. Somehow the audience looked a lot larger from down below the stage then it had when they were up in the seats. Every other seat seemed filled with a huge white or black minotaur. Boxes lined the side of the hall, and loomed over the audience, and they, too were chock-full of brightly colored minotaur in their elaborate clothes. "Much better ... I'd expected about a hundred, and we might have twice that," Karol said, and then he paused. "I wonder why ... there aren't any major ... Chelm? He wasn't ..." The surprise in Karol's voice drew Temblor's attention away from the fighting-circle, and to the not-quite-familiar bright red figure standing with three other bulls. "Why ..." and a light tug on his leash warned Temblor before Master Karol started walking toward them

Chelm, too, had a leash and a man in a light gauze smock that did nothing to hide the elaborate tattoos covering his body, twisting stripes that joined and broke up only to rejoin again - even though Temblor had never seen Zebra before, that could only be the wrestler Master talked about so often. But hadn't Chelm retired Zebra? Temblor followed Master Karol a little closer than the prescribed three steps, not wanting the leash to grow taut. He kept his eyes down, although he did peek at Zebra - only to find Zebra watching him with a guarded expression.

"Pardon me," Karol said to a brown minotaur standing by Chelm, and interrupting some conversation between Chelm and one of the large whites. Temblor wished he could tell them apart, but all the minotaur seemed so ... reserved. Formal. One of the two whites was standing so motionless Temblor wasn't even sure he was breathing; he looked more like a painted white statue with a perfectly carved pelt than an actual living creature.

"Karol?" asked Chelm, and then the roan's eyes turned to Temblor. So this was Chelm. "Ah. Your laggard," he said, glancing at Temblor. "You're finally entering him?"

"Yes," said Karol guardedly; Temblor heard unusual uncertainty in his Master's voice. "You weren't scheduled to be here."

"True," said the bright red minotaur, and then, "I beg your forgiveness Karol, but I cannot introduce you. I've brought some friends, foreigners, who expressed an interest in our game. They are here, at this match, in the most unofficial of ways." Temblor wanted to look at them, but ... instead, he looked surreptitiously at the infamous Zebra. Karol had talked about him, over and over, how Zebra did this, how Zebra did that, even more than Leopard. The wrestler was shorter than Leopard, though. Just as muscled, but more compact. Maybe as heavy. Skilled, certainly.

"I understand," Karol said, with a short bow directed towards nobody, as far as Temblor could tell.. "I note that you have brought Zebra as well."

"My friends had wanted to see Leopard, but to enter him on short notice would be ... well." Chelm gave a desultory shrug. "I doubt he would find a good bout so late."

"You have entered Zebra, then?" Karol asked.

"Yes," said Chelm, and then, seeming to realize, "Ah, you've entered yours late, too?"

"Yes," said Karol. Oh, thought Temblor. Karol had wanted an easy match for him. "Willard has not given me a match for Temblor yet."

"Is that his name?" Chelm said approvingly, turning his eye directly on Temblor, appraising him. There was something ... uncomfortable in that gaze. "He looks quite fine. Temblor, eh?"

"Do I understand correctly this will be his first match, then?" the brown minotaur broke in, giving Temblor a stare.

"His first official match, yes," said Karol. "But I do not want him matched against ..."

"Ah, Chelm, Karol," another voice interrupted, and Temblor recognized Willard - a smaller black minotaur who ran the bouts - smiled up at them. "How convenient. Your Temblor will meet Chelm's Zebra as the first bout," and he handed a card to both Chelm and Karol. "We'll be starting in a bit, so you might want to send your friends to my box." He stared at Temblor for a moment. "I think he'll give Zebra some trouble."

Zebra's eyes flickered to Temblor for a moment - just a moment, and his tattoos rippled across his muscled frame as he gave a tiny shrug, and - oddly - a small, shy smile.

"It would be unsporting to bet against Zebra, given that our host has entered him for our benefit," one of the gleaming white minotaurs said. "I will wager a full hundred suns against a single sun, if that seems fair." That didn't seem particularly fair to Temblor, but then again, this was Zebra.

"More than fair," said Karol with a smile, and then he paused, and looked closely at the minotaur, and then turned to Chelm, the brown, and the other white, and then back to the minotaur. "But ..." and then he stared for a long moment. Temblor could almost watch the bull's mood turn from irritation with the unexpected match to a controlled anger.

"But? I will even supply the sun for your side of the wager," the white minotaur said.

"I intrude on your evening," Karol said, his voice gone flat with blank minotaur formality. "For the which, I apologize."

"No," the brown said, looking concerned. "You are a welcome addition. Please, will you not join us?"

"I do not think I will test my equanimity so," Karol said. "And it is most unseemly to be envious of the success of others, so I will simply wish you," and Karol turned to the huge white who'd offered him both a bet and the stake for it, "good anonymous sir, a pleasant evening with Chelm, and -" Karol shifted back to face Chelm "- him, with you."

"You ... are envious of me?" asked the white bull, sounding as confused as Temblor was.

"I have long sought - and occasionally won - Chelm's attention and intimate regard," Karol said. "I congratulate you on your success, and trust that you well worthy of ..."

"Intimate regard?" interrupted Chelm, angrily. "He has done no such thing!" Zebra was now watching his master with concern, and Temblor watched them both carefully. Chelm had often enterered Master Karol's conversation, but ... Temblor hadn't imagined anything like that. Master Karol was sweet on Chelm?

Karol took a step backwards. "Grandmaster Chelm, you will not do your honor well to deny that you and this bull are intimate - were intimate, in fact, earlier tonight."

"I ... I do not deny it, but ..." and Chelm let out a sigh. "May I say it has nothing to do with our relationship?"

"You may say it," Karol said, "but I hope you would refrain from so testing your honor. I assure you it most assuredly does."

"I didn't know you were in a relationship," the brown bull murmured to Chelm. "You might have mentioned it."

"Had," said Karol in a cold voice of correction. "Had a relationship. It is, of course, the Grandmaster's privilege to have a relationship with anyone he please - I am very honored that he pleased to have one with me - but I do not think myself well-used to learn of its dissolution in such a belated way."

"I haven't," said Chelm, and then, looking distressed, "I've been busy ..."

"So you communicated," said Karol, with a half-bow to the white minotaur. "I believed you. I still believe you. You will forgive me. I have to prep Temblor for the bout."

"Karol," said Chelm, "I beg your forgiveness - may I at least call on you?"

"I do not see a need," Karol said, and Chelm gave a grimace.

"Excuse me," said the brown minotaur. "Warlord Karol, may I call on you?"

"I ..." and the minotaur paused. "I cannot invite an unnamed bull to my rooms," he said finally. "And again, I do not see a need."

"I do," the brown said, calmly. "May I tender an invitation, then?"

"For that, you hardly need my permission," Karol said. "Although I, too, am frequently busy, and I regret that I cannot respond favorably to every invitation I receive." He looked around, his anger fading into some less immediate emotion that Temblor hadn't seen before, and couldn't identify. "I bid you all a most pleasant evening."

"Temblor, come," and Karol walked off - Temblor followed him, of course, although he saw Zebra staring worriedly at him as he walked off to avoid being jerked by the leash. It wasn't until nearly a minute later he added, "May it be better than mine," before he turned his attention back to Temblor. "Well. That ... well," Master Karol said, which was unusual. "Never mind that. I am sorry, Temblor, that ... your first match will be somewhat more trying than I had hoped. Zebra ... can be beaten, however, and I know you will show well against him. You are stronger than he is, and probably faster. He is skilled, though. Much - all, really - of the things we've worked on were perfected by Zebra and Chelm. He won't know what your level of skill is, though, so ... that, too is an advantage. He will not expect a complex series from you; he will expect - until you disillusion him, of course - for you to use the simpler moves. He will crouch, unless Chelm instructs him otherwise, and since Chelm has no idea of your skills, Chelm will let Zebra do his own fighting," Karol said. "And Zebra, left to his own devices ... prefers maneuvers of middling complexity. I think ..." and the minotaur sighed.

"I think you will almost pin him, several times. He is an amazingly hard fellow to hold. He has a gift for disengaging, and each time you pin him, he'll learn more about how you move. He's also good at turning a disengage into an attack - I can't tell you how many times I've seen someone try to pin Zebra only to have him twist them into his own lock." Karol continued walking over to the ring. "Don't be afraid to use your strength. You're stronger than he is, and that may be your best advantage. You won't hurt him - Chelm or I would stop you before that happened. We will both be watching along with the referees, and ..." Karol paused for a moment. "I assure you, we can stop you before you could harm Zebra. Or vice versa.

"Chelm withdrew him from active fighting because Zebra was ill, and slowing down. I presume Zebra is in better health, but I suspect he'll still be a little slower. I doubt he's out of training - I'm quite certain that Chelm trains Leopard against Zebra. Try to hold the initiative; make him react against you, and he'll have less of a chance to use his familiarity with the ring against you. For this bout, ignore the position and style point, just stay in the ring. There's no way you could out-point Zebra, so there's no reason to distract yourself by fretting over them." Karol sighed. "I'd really hoped for an easier match for you, but ... Temblor, just do your best. If you had a year of bouts, I'd back you against Zebra without hesitation. I still think you're the better wrestler even now."

Temblor glanced up at Master Karol, surprised at the approving tone, and the cautious compliment, and ventured a quiet, "I'll make you proud, Master."

"Yes, of course you will," said the white minotaur with a smile. "And I think you'll win, as well."

---

Zebra watched the compact muscles fold and stretch in Temblor's legs as they carried the other wrestler away from the group. Master's father, the Greatest Lord, was distressed - and trying to hide it. Successfully, Zebra thought, from the others. Not from Zebra. Not from the human the Greatest Lord had taken into his own bed, just to comfort him when his Master - Chelm - wasn't there. Master himself had withdrawn behind the rigid formal expression that the minotaurs used as a shield; but behind it, Zebra knew Master was distressed.

The Great Lord who mentored Master, though, was laughing. Not so that any of the masters could see it, of course. But Zebra knew. After so many years, so many masters before his real Master ... he could tell. Even before he'd come to Master, he could always tell ...

Until now. The other Great Lord - Master had told him that he could, if he had to, address him as Great Prince - was blank inside. A mask of detached interest over an impenetrable blankness. Almost impenetrable blankness. Almost. Almost.

Almost.

It had come like a revelation at the end of dinner, and Zebra couldn't say why. The Great Prince was hiding something. Hiding something that amounted to a lie, although it wouldn't be a lie, of course. But ... something of that magnitude.

It was only now, as he watched Temblor walk away, saw the hidden fear in the other's steps, that he knew. He just hadn't recognized it in a minotaur before. The Great Prince was terrified.

---

His Imperial Highness Prince Noroma stared ahead with his best court smile, trying to enjoy the bout. The initial start had been, Noroma had to admit, fantastic. Zebra had oiled Temblor, and then the other man had stroked oil across the rippling tattoos of Zebra - now, that had been a sight. Nearly enough to distract him from the horrible sense of uncertainty that filled him. He'd been in perfectus for so long, that now, without it, without any access to time -

• he felt like he was blundering about in a room full of pits and sharp edges. Worse; he didn't even know when he was setting a foot awry. He couldn't tell, didn't know, it was like being blind and deaf and dumb, and he had to remind himself, over and over, that this was how everyone else saw the world. Now. Maybe, for a copper, a glimpse at a possible then, but ... just now. The steady progression, the collapse of possibilities into the instant, the glorious scope of potentials ... gone.

Instead, he was as blind as anyone - blinder, since he couldn't slow down to watch the event - when the two took their places in the ring just below and to the right of their box. Chelm's seat was empty, as he was standing to the side of the ring, across from Karol, whose attention was just as clearly focused on his wrestler, Temblor, as it was not focused on Chelm himself. The Ebon mage was ... smirking, Noroma thought, although he wasn't sure if that amusement was aimed at Chelm or his father Teodor. The Patriarch just seemed ... sad.

Not, Noroma thought, embarrassed by the little drama that had played out, and Noroma wasn't certain he himself could have handled that unpleasant scene with Teodor's equanimity. He wasn't sure why the Patriarch seemed sad; the matter could be cleared up tomorrow or the day after with an explanation. No lasting harm.

And apparently Lord Xavien felt the same way, as he leaned over to Teodor and whispered, "They're young."

"That only means it hurts more," the disguised Teodor said back, just as quietly.

Noroma thought about that as he watched Zebra and Temblor sponge oil over each other, preparing for the bout, and he began to feel more confident in his mutatis-inspired decision to give his brother to this pleasantly insightful Roan who was trying, to the best of his abilities, to be Patriarch. The Prince hadn't seen anywhere near enough to make a determination of just how successful Teodor would be at that, but ... clearly, the bull had some depth to him.

---

Temblor tried to oil Zebra nonchalantly, but ... that was difficult. Almost as soon as he'd touched the oil, he'd realized it was spiked with that ubiquitous minotaur lust-drug, and he was already rock-hard. Zebra was, too, and ... the black irregular stripes, broken and reforming, glistened with dark hints of color as the oil coated him. Even his maleness had the stripes - that must have hurt.

"No," came as the faintest puff of air from Zebra, his lips barely moving, and pitched so low that Temblor, standing an inch in front him, could barely make it out. No, what, Temblor thought, before he realized he must have said it out loud.

"Sorry," he mouthed back.

With a faint hint of a shrug - more of a suggestion of a twitch of his shoulders - Zebra acknowledged his quiet apology. "Asleep," he murmured, finishing wiping oil down Temblor's legs, and not-accidentally bumping up against Temblor's hard length as he stood. Having Zebra oil that had been ... intense. Temblor himself had done that quickly - putting a heavy coat of oil on Zebra's long manhood, and a quick sipe over his smooth sack, but Zebra had touched him with a lot more ... deliberation? Care? Temblor wasn't sure he knew. Less hesitation, certainly, but then, Zebra had done this tens, maybe hundreds, of time.

Temblor had practiced, of course, but this was the first time ... he made himself take a mental step back, and seriously consider what would happen if he lost. Not when, he was good and if Master Karol told him he could win, then Temblor found himself thinking he could. But Temblor knew that this wasn't the easy match he'd expected, that the ... stretching, Master Karol had called it, he'd done before the bout, to open him up in case he lost, to be certain he'd take no hurt, wasn't just for the sake of completeness. He might be very, very grateful that his Master had taken the time to open him gently, if - if - he lost.

But that wasn't going to happen. Temblor took a breath, and reminded himself that he was going to win.

The circle was ... he'd practiced in a circle exactly like this one, and yet it seemed ... different. He could almost feel - no. No almost, he did feel the intent and eerily quiet gaze of the minotaurs on him. This wasn't like the endurance test before, where there had been five, ten matches going on at the same time and only a couple of minotaur watching. Everyone in the auditorium was focused on him.

Well, on him and Zebra. Both Master Karol and Chelm were there, standing just outside the circle, and they were intent on him. The referee was a huge white bull whom Temblor didn't know, and he could feel their attention, and beyond them, the attention of every other bull, and to his right, in one of the boxes, and he took the middle crouching position almost without thinking, and Zebra took a kneeling position.

His eyes kept glancing over to the referee and then back to Zebra. The other wrestler looked calm, his eyes ... Temblor wasn't sure what Zebra was looking at, or even if Zebra was just staring into space, and Temblor envied that sense of peace, even if he was just imagining it. Maybe Zebra was as nervous as Temblor was, and just better at hiding it - Temblor decided he liked that thought. Why wasn't the referee starting the bout? What was he waiting for? Just standing there, staring out at Zebra, the minotaur surrounding the ring, in the boxes ...

Zebra was ready, Temblor was ready, the other two minotaur - Chelm and Master Karol - were ready, why wasn't the ...

"Go."

Neither Temblor nor Zebra moved, except to ready themselves for a sudden move that didn't come. Zebra seemed to relax after a moment, but Temblor didn't - and after a moment, he realized that Zebra hadn't so much relaxed as simply settled in for a longer wait. Apparently both of them had hoped the other would rush in.

Not so.

Instead, Temblor and Zebra circled around the ring, cautiously watching each other, trying for a positional advantage. Zebra had a slight smile on his face.

If this had been a fight in human lands, there would be noise from the crowd; but the minotaurs were silent - almost eerily so. He'd noticed that before, but Temblor hadn't expected it to be so strange in the ring. No. Focus. He kept his eyes on Zebra, the man's tattoos rippling and stretching as he stepped sidewise, keeping directly across from Temblor. He wasn't sure it was ...

Zebra took a single step into the ring, closer, not hugging the edge. Any movement would take Temblor closer to him.

Temblor took that step, and Zebra moved in with him. They closed slowly, getting closer, closer ...

Zebra moved first, a duck-feint combination that - fortunately - Master Karol had drilled him in the counter, but not the following grapple, as Zebra tackled him, and they both dropped to the floor of the ring. The oil made getting a firm grasp difficult, but Zebra - obviously - had a lot of practice, and nearly caught Temblor in a lock around his legs. Temblor managed to pull out of it, but it left him in a bad position and Zebra simply shifted to a new lock around his left arm and right leg - a much more difficult one to break.

A moment later, he realized that Zebra had intended that; Zebra had practically invited him to do that and he'd just stepped directly into the hold.

Well, fuck that.

Temblor braced himself, feeling the mat give slightly under him, but it wasn't the mat he needed to brace against, it was Zebra himself, and he flexed, turning himself over, using his greater weight to flip the two of them over. Zebra was still in control of the lock, but now it was Zebra on his back, and he slammed the other against the mat, and used the moment of disorientation to turn the lock around on Zebra - only to have Zebra slip out of his grasp like water.

And slip an arm around his shoulder, twist, and pull them both back back down to the mat, with Zebra on the mat, holding Temblor down, and he could hear the referee counting ... and with a mighty twist, he managed - somehow - to break out of the hold, and turn around to grab Zebra, somewhere - anywhere - ending up with an arm lock, a knee across Zebra's legs to drop him back to the mat and down - and the referee was counting again, only this time, it was Temblor who was about to win.

Only Zebra shook himself and slipped out of Temblor's hands again, flipping the lock over, but Temblor didn't even pause, going with the motion rather than against it, turning the lock back around on Zebra ... they rolled around on the mat, every time Temblor thought he had Zebra, the man managed to pull out, using his own skill aided by the oil. Zebra was almost impossible to hold on his own, and the slippery coating turned almost impossible into completely impossible.

It was ... frustrating, maddening and ... more than a little fun, Temblor thought, and he moved in again. This time, he surprised a faint smile on Zebra's face as they struggled for position - and - no, it wasn't his imagination.

Zebra was tickling Temblor's sack, just a little - grabbing there was forbidden, Master Karol had explained, but ... that brush could be innocent. Just a the soft seesaw of Zebra's arm as the other wrestler tried to grab his thigh, but ...

It wasn't. Temblor thought he'd been aroused before, but ... now he just ached to sink into Zebra - and maybe that was the point; Temblor found concentrating on what he was going to do more and more difficult as the feel and smell of the other man washed over him ... the cool of the oil, the not-unpleasant smell of Zebra, and suddenly Temblor was reacting to Zebra as the other man started putting him in pins, and now it was Temblor's turn to scramble out of them.

Somehow Zebra managed to keep him close, rubbing against him almost everywhere. It was like Zebra wasn't trying to hold him, but caress him, hard, letting the oil ... no, Temblor realized, that was exactly what Zebra was doing! Temblor tested it - tried a little less hard to break a lock on his left arm, and - he still slipped out.

Zebra was messing with him. That pissed him off, and he turned the next - deliberately - failed lock around on Zebra, and then rolled the two of them over, so that Temblor was back-down on the mat, holding - trying to hold, at least - Zebra in a lock on top of him, and if that just happened to slip his hard shaft in the cleft of Zebra's elaborately tattooed bottom - well, that was just too bad, wasn't it?

Only he hadn't expected Zebra to clench his cheeks around him - that felt - no! - too good, and Temblor's rough plan paused for a moment while he wrestled not Zebra, but the sheer glorious feeling of warm flesh wrapped around his length, and he wondered for a moment why Zebra hadn't taken advantage of that but then he realized that Zebra wasn't messing with him.

Zebra was flirting with him. Zebra was inviting him to win - if he could. If he was good enough. If he was fast enough, strong enough, skilled enough - Zebra was telling him that that if he could win, Zebra would be only too happy to be fucked. Sort of a wordless don't worry about it, or maybe even a you're cute. Or maybe it was just taking pity on a hapless new competitor. But that couldn't be; the first few minutes of the bout Zebra hadn't been - Temblor stopped thinking when Zebra was just a moment too slow on a twist and Temblor locked his arms around Zebra's chest and under his arm, and slammed him over into a hard lock, slipping both legs between Zebra's at the same time. Gotcha.

And despite a surprisingly strong side-twist and contortion where Zebra tried to curl away from him but the leg-lock held.

"Down!" said the Referee, and then, "Release!"

Temblor let Zebra go instantly - this was another thing Master Karol had been, to Temblor's thinking, excessively emphatic. These are the commands the referee will use. You will obey them. Without hesitation. But he regretted it instantly as Zebra - reluctantly? - separated from him. The warm flesh had felt so good pressed against him ...

What was wrong? Master Karol had said something, but Temblor had missed it, and Chelm just nodded - and then he found himself almost hurled up into the air by the referee who said - shouted - something, but it was either too loud or not a word he knew or maybe something else because there room was full of minotaurs - quiet, restrained minotaurs - except now they weren't, when had they gotten so loud? While he was wrestling? When he'd won? They were cheering? Him? But that was his name - Temblor - echoing in deep minotaur voices in the huge room with ... with ... they wanted him to ... Gáma ton? Gamó?to Zebra? And the cheer just got louder and louder, with yells of Fylí? tou and Emfánisi? Zebra pó?s gínetai ! Show Zebra how it's done! How what's done, Temblor wondered. What did they want him to do to ...

... to Zebra! Oh! Oh!

Gáma. Fuck. Gamó?to Zebra. Fuck Zebra. That was exactly what he wanted to do - just the thought made him harder - and then they were shouting more, louder, too many things, what was Échei stázei ! Dó?ste Zebra gia na ton!? He knew the words, but between the bout, and smell of minotaur and the taste of salt and man musk in every breath he took, he just couldn't, the words wouldn't come together in his head -

• And then he wasn't being held in the air anymore, he was back standing on the mat, well, his feet were on the mat and he was leaning on the huge white minotaur and he glanced up, desperately, at the referee who was staring down at him, no, no help there, but the only other thing he could see was Zebra - beautiful, fuckable Zebra - kneeling down, away from him, on his elbows and knees, the stripes moving - no, the stripes weren't moving, Zebra was moving, shifting his legs apart, offering himself up., legs open, waiting for him except there were all these minotaur, and they weren't watching quietly, the shouts were getting louder and - somehow in the middle of all this it surprised him, somewhere, cruder but what -

His eyes met Master Karol's. Ignore them, the minotaur mouthed. Go ahead. There was no sound, just the movement of incredibly agile bovine lips on Master Karol's muzzle. Temblor swallowed, took a breath, and looked at his just-defeated opponent. Just defeated. Zebra had lost to him ... Zebra had chosen to lose to him. Was ... he glanced back at Master Karol, whose face was looking a bit puzzled. And then, more silent words for him. Encouragement. Go on. Gently.

Gently. Like Master Karol had been with him, Temblor thought. If he could. The need to sink himself into Zebra was so overwhelming it paralyzed him; that was probably good, really, because otherwise he'd have fallen on the poor man like ... like ... some kind of ravening beast. He felt like ... he needed ... he needed ...

Somehow, though, he made himself creep forward. He reached out - not as gently as Master Karol would have, but not roughly, not rough, no - for the twin rounds of firm muscle, parted them with a cautious, trembling haste. Zebra had oiled himself there, too, Temblor realized. Just as he, Temblor, had, in case he'd lost. Stretched himself, made himself ready if ... if ...

But that didn't - wouldn't - excuse him. Temblor knew, even if he couldn't look away from Zebra, that Master Karol was watching him. He slid a finger into Zebra, thinking to himself, gently, gently, gently, gently ...

A second finger encountered only the slightest resistance, and after a moment, Temblor could feel Zebra relax. Waiting. Ready, Zebra seemed to be saying to him. I'm ready. The slightest wiggle of the ass in front of him asking what are you waiting for? But Temblor went ahead and pushed a third finger in, the way Master Karol expected of him. Let Zebra relax around that, too, as he massaged inside of the other man, loosening him, until finally Zebra let out a quiet, desperate whine, and then - finally - he pulled his fingers out, slowly, and eased himself into Zebra.

His entire body tensed, as he finally got the feeling he craved, the tight, wet, slick hold on his shaft felt so good it almost hurt, pleasure so intense it was almost pain, and the slightest movement on his so-sensitive skin threatened to push him over the edge ... but ...

He couldn't know what Zebra was risking - had risked - if Zebra's Master Chelm realized he'd thrown the match. No, desperate as Temblor was to reach release, he wanted to please Zebra. He'd rather, much rather, be where he was than where Zebra was, he could ignore the ... Temblor faltered as he remembered the crowd, and suddenly he could hear them again, the excited rumble of voices, no more clear shouts, just a deep basso thunder. No. He pushed determinedly into Zebra even as the older wrestler pushed back against him.

So good.

He pulled out, Zebra tightening around him, gripping him, trying to pull him back in, and he thrust in again, and again, and again ...

So good.

The rhythm. So good ...

So close ... had to hold, hold, hold, Temblor wanted Zebra to spill first, wanted to feel the man twist in pleasure around him, tighten ... Yes! There! Apparently Zebra was as hair-trigger needy as Temblor felt. Zebra was already spasming around him as the man gave a low, deep moan of pleasure. Temblor pulled the man to him; he didn't push into Zebra, but pulled the man onto him as his length pulsed seed into the tight warm welcoming channel ... the roar building, almost as if the minotaur in the room were finding some kind of intensity themselves in Temblor's release, in Zebra's release.

And then he was collapsing, onto the still moaning Zebra, both of them slick with sweat and oil and seed. He felt dazed, confused, almost dizzy as Master Karol picked him up and whispered, "Well done, I am most pleased." Chelm took hold of Zebra, and hoisted the other man into his arms, but if Chelm said anything to Zebra, Temblor couldn't hear it.

Even in the deep satiation of release, though, Temblor wondered why those words, I am most pleased, made him feel so good.

---

His Imperial Highness Prince Noroma was in such a pleasant mood as the group wandered back through the Lycaili Maze to the Patriarch's Residence that even the loss of his temporal sense wasn't bothering him. It was inconvenient, but he would live. Even General Yasutoshi, personally responsible to the Imperial Will for Noroma's safety, had found no fault with the protection that Teodor's Guard had thrown around him - and that wasn't even considering that Teodor and Xavien were mages.

The wrestling bout had been arousing, delicious, exciting ... as fun as any competition staged at the Imperial Court had been (and more fun than many of them, Noroma admitted), and the effect on the minotaurs themselves had been revealing. The Emperor used formality and pattern to sooth the aggressive minotaurs of his court; this actually used that same aggression, redirected it through the proxies of the bull's humans, and then burned it in the post-bout intercourse between the wrestlers. The first bout, between Zebra (now sleeping in Chelm's arms) and Karol's wrestler, had had Noroma on the edge of his seat.

It had been incredibly arousing, Noroma thought. He'd planned to be here in Lycaili for only a few weeks, and so he'd left Xerxes behind with his father, but ... now he was wondering if perhaps that had been an error. Although ... no, no, Xerxes was too valuable to be risked outside the Imperial Court, even if there weren't any chance he'd be recognized. It was unlikely - to say the least - that Chelm could be parted from Zebra tonight given the way he was holding the man, and although he might well gain some favor with Chelm by complimenting Zebra, the roan was clearly feeling possessive over the man. Noroma couldn't blame him.

Leopard, though ... Noroma considered it as they walked through the night air, Teodor talking quietly with Chelm, remarks about Chelm's wrestling league - mostly affirmative - drifting back to him in half-heard snatches. He certainly wanted someone after that event.

---

Dacien was happy to discover that what Dellios and Iudas had disparagingly referred to as the root cellar turned out to be considerably more than that: a complex of underground storage for aging wine, storing grain and (inevitably) onions, garlic, potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables. Behind the vegetables and wine casks, however, were large crates, carefully labeled as 'BREAD', 'CHEESE', 'ORANGES', 'MIXED FRUIT', and other similar comestibles, all surrounded by a soporific buzz of magic.

Magic ...

Dacien tried not to stare at the human trailing Dellios closely, but the man was leaking magic to his senses, a thick clear ooze of magic that ... that ... tickled some half-damaged memory that told him this was important, important beyond the fact the human clearly didn't even know what he was. Or that Dellios didn't know; he clearly belonged to Dellios, and had, Dacien noticed, managed to stay as close to Dellios as he was far from Iudas. The Guildmaster, however, had taken no notice of the man as he and Dellios had led all of them deeper into the complex. Dellios walked up to an otherwise unassuming wall laden with carefully racked bottles, reached into it, and there was a loud, almost resounding, CRUNK, and the entire wall shook slightly as something released and the wall moved an inch or two in.

With a more concerted push, the wall pivoted from the left side, still holding the racks of bottles, and dust puffed into the air. "You'll ..."

"I'll have the bottles reracked," Iudas said.

"What is this?"

"It's a sanctuary," said Dellios.

"There's a cave system," said Iudas. "There's enough room for ... everyone on my estate. There's food, water, blankets, even a septic system, although the bathing facilities ..." the mint-green minotaur trailed off.

"Cold water, and no means to heat it," said Dellios with a regretful sigh. "But there's plenty of water, at least."

"Why no ..."

Dellios looked at Iudas, who looked back at him.

"Because creating a hot-water tank is a precise, demanding, three-day ritual, and I haven't done it yet," admitted Iudas. "In part, because I'm not sure I can; it's tough thing for even a practicing Master, and while I'm a decent magician, it's more of an avocation. I've been preparing for it, and I think I'll be able to do it in a few years, but ... I'm simply not ready."

"But ..."

"We had humans work on the sanctuary," Dellios said. "And that was nearly fifty years ago. Only my cousin and I know about this place now."

"In case ..." and Iudas paused.

"In case?"

Iudas gave his cousin a helpless look.

"In case we needed it," Dellios said flatly. "Which, we do."

"Yes," said Iudas, sounding relieved.

Dacien, on the other hand, wondered what they were talking around. He glanced up at Bryant, who looked blank enough that Dacien thought he didn't know. Still ... "I don't wish to pry into your secrets," he said. "Nor do I wish to offend my benefactors - I am grateful - beyond grateful, that you have clearly both placed yourselves at some risk to help us. But if there is something we should know, or something we should avoid asking - please tell us. I - we, all of us - will respect your privacy."

Dellios looked at Iudas, the same way Iudas had looked at him earlier.

"I don't know," said Iudas. "I ... it's ..."

"There there's no reason not to," said Dellios. "You may have heard rumors that coppers can see the future."

"Yes," said Bryant, "but I always thought that was ... well, impossible."

"It is impossible, but you've heard of the mage talent of percipience?"

"Oh, yes," said Bryant with a grimace. "Lord Chimes has it."

Oddly, that made Dellios smile. "Then you understand just how ... frustratingly imprecise it can be."

"You're ... all copper? - are percipient?"

"To some degree, most of us much less than more," admitted Iudas. "And we both ... had the feeling we needed a place to hide ... although we weren't sure if was ourselves, or our humans, or both. Or even any sense of when we might need it."

"But you think this is the reason?"

"I don't know," said Iudas. "For some reason, you ..." and then he looked at Dellios uncertainly again.

But this time, Dacien could guess. "Your percipience has gone silent,"

Dellios looked shocked, and Iudas, interested. The Guildmaster just said, "Yes."

"That's ... probably an effect of my signature," Dacien said, and was rewarded as the two exchanged relieved expressions.

"That ... your signature ..."

"Is complicated," said Dacien. "I wasn't aware it would have that effect. It suppresses other mage's signatures." Dacien almost mentioned that he was suppressing the human's magic, but something ... something about that honey-thick magic was trying to connect to another memory, an important memory, Something ripped away by Timas, he thought, with a sigh.

"Dellios will stay with you here, and ... I'll see what arrangements I can make to get you safely back to Lycaili," Iudas said. "Dellios knows where everything is in the shelter. The fewer times we enter the shelter - or leave it the safer it will be - Dellios will explain."

"Lurkers?" said Dellios.

"I ... can't imagine they know about the shelter," said Iudas.

"We will have to hope they do not," Dellios agreed. "As long as they don't, this will work."

The mint-green Iudas let a half-smile flicker across his muzzle. "Indeed. Take care, Del."

"I will. You too?"

"Of course," said Iudas. "Of course."