Beyond Wizardwall by Janet Morris

Author:Janet Morris [Morris, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Speculative Fiction, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780441057221
Publisher: Ace
Published: 1986-06-01T00:00:00+00:00

* 8 *

It took all night to find the soldiers who'd brought Niko to Abakithis's priests.

But the god was whispering in Tempus's ear the whole time, and though the culprits had hidden pieces of the enchanted panoply in bunks and barracks and stableyards, the Riddler knew just which soldiers he was seeking.

By dawn, the mercenaries had all six and their commanding officer tied in a coffle, the man who'd slain the god's lamb at its head.

They took them out beyond the city limits and on the shores of a river began the ritual of Never-ending Deaths, which Rankans mete out to their captives.

Though Tempus hadn't seen it done for more than twenty years, he ordered the rites and closed his ears to the doomed men's screams: the god wanted His sacrifice, seven-fold, as gods are wont when they've been slighted.

By sunup the river ran pink with blood and the mercenaries rode in age-old fashion between the pieces of their enemies.

And when they did, a hawk flew over, right to left, sanctifying all in the Storm God's name—or names, if Enlil was taking over Vashanka's duties, the way He'd said, until the missing god came back.

Then it was time for Tempus, after thanking the men, to visit Theron, the leader of the faction who wanted Abakithis dead.

He'd stayed out of Rankan politics as best he could till then, but this was a different matter: when priests betray their gods and emperors go too far, it's always up to the armies to set things right.

At Theron's home, the staff was serving breakfast.

The appearance of a huge man in blood-stained leopardskin with a boar's tooth helm and the god's own high-browed face sent menials scurrying.

But Theron, short and dark and windscored from years of honest battle, greeted Tempus with equanimity: general to general, as once they'd fought together in the field.

"Some food, Tempus? A bowl? A posset?"

Tempus took a bowl of winter wine thick with barley and goat's cheese and sat on Theron's terrace with a man, now aged and wizened, nearly sixty, who'd helped make Abakithis's empire the greatest in the world.

"What brings you here, old friend?" asked Theron, his thick lips working, his upslanted eyes sharp and wary. On his forehead was a dark gray callus from years of bowing his head to the god of war.

"You sent a priest," Tempus said without preamble, "up to Tyse to recruit a Stepson of mine for an assassination, bypassing me. Is that because you don't want my help?"

Theron snorted like an old warhorse. "By Vashanka's blazing eye, it's not that. We're short on funds and the priests yet fear you. They didn't tell me until afterward what they'd done. I won't apologize… this whole political business makes me queasy. If Abakithis were a man, I could call him out to single combat. But since he's not, I'm at the mercy of the manipulators and my backers… you know how coups are, and empires…"

"The boy can't fulfill his promise. He's badly hurt and may not live out the day.

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