Another little bonus

Dreams Speak

Dreams speak on silent lips

eyes flash

lids narrow.

We are our breaths

our heartbeats in silence

even as thunder roars

in our bones.

Meditative we reach

to oversoul, so large

and there we speak

resonating like plucked strings

up and down the lives

of our crystal selves.

-- August 2009

A different short story

Dosvedanya Kaptain

“Listen you bag of glue, you are going to show me what to do or I will feed you to our starving loyal soldiers.” The low Russian voice made the threat more vicious to the prisoner of war. “I have you in that shape and you will be my loyal steed and carry me through the rest of this war and you will be released a man. You need to show me on this verdammt map how to get the rest of this unit back to our lines!”

The stallion blew and clawed at the frozen mud, shaking his head, making his bridle rings rattle. The young Russian officer, who looked about as intelligent as one of the Czar’s elegant, long-nosed wolfhounds thrust the map under the horse’s nose. His heavy mitten was off despite the cold, leaving the thin lining gloves so he could point out the route. “Here? Here? Come ON! We have to get moving before the French sorcerers call down a monster wind on us and freeze us in our tracks, yourself included!”

The horse stamped as the officer pointed. Once for yes, twice for no. The rage in the stallion’s eyes over the heavy curb-bit should have scorched the oblivious Captain of the Czarovich’s Tenth. Captain Alsady Valadin Borvisivich was absolutely certain of his control of his mount and as he rolled the map with a satisfied snap and thrust it into the map case; his gloved hand patted the tiny pocket built into his uniform over the innocent looking brass button that was the key to the POW’s spell. He had it safe. Not a problem.

He mounted with a flourish and headed back to the ragged remnants of his command, torn to ribbons by French advance, with a route and a plan.

It was the next day and the frozen ground had thawed to heavy muck. Even the Kaptain had gotten off his horse and was in the mud. Two men had no boots. Even Russians, who knew Obshia Grazi -- General Mud -- hadn’t managed to save their footwear, and their uniforms had lost layers to save their feet.

It was in the mud, when Alsady slipped and, clinging to the girth of his horse, sank into a hole above his knees. “Get me out of here!” Two men grabbed the officer by the arms, the horse tried to shy sideways, floundering in the heavy clay, it whistled and snapped at the men, then at the Kaptain, its heavy teeth tearing the filthy boiled wool.

The Kaptain slammed a fist into the war-horse’s nose and it flung its head back but made no noise at all, its mouth closed. They pulled the Kaptain Borvisivich out of the mud and the moment he was back on relatively solid ground he shook them off. “That’s enough! Get your hands off me. I’m out. I’m out.”

The two men, unshaven, hungry, rolled their eyes at each other over his head, stepped away from the Kaptain and his dangerous horse. They slogged on as the light began to fail. They weren’t going to run into any of the French. The Kaptain, despite his abominable ego had never yet lead them astray and even if they did not trust him, they certainly trusted his ability to save his own hide. The Russian lines would be ahead somewhere. They’d make contact again, if not this night, then the next day.

Kaptain Borvisivich yanked viciously on the reins in his fist, cutting into the tender mouth of his horse. “Stop that! You want to be human again, don’t you,” he snapped quietly. “Bite me and I’ll feed you to the troops.” The horse rolled its eyes at him but didn’t snap.

The Kaptain twitched his nose up in disgust at the animal’s quick acquiescence. “Coward,” he taunted the animal. Still no response but a low grumble. The Kaptain completely missed how much like laughter it sounded.

The horse chewed on the vicious bit, teeth grinding on metal as he drooled pink foam. His eye, on the Kaptain rolled wickedly.

They stopped by a frozen river, the edges melted back and the Kaptain handed his horse off to one of the men and the horse lowered his head to the icy water, but drank strangely, drawing water through clenched teeth, raised his dripping head to stare at the Kaptain who was also drinking from his canteen. Borvisivich thrust the freezing container at the man who had filled it for him. “Tonight we risk a fire. Bank it. The willows and the high banks here will help hide it.”

“Yes, Kaptain.” He slogged over and took back his horse. “I’m going to think. I need to check the maps. I will have my bedroll laid out by the fire by the time I get back.”

“Yes, Kaptain.”

Borvisivich led his horse out of sight, yanking his feet out of the mud like a horse mincing his feet high, careful of his footing and the war horse followed along docilely, lips pulling back to reveal the brass piece controlling the shape changing spell on him, scarred, flattened, covered in horse blood from the vicious bit.

He’d torn the brass out of the Kaptain’s breast pocket this afternoon, when he’d bitten, and things would start to unravel soon. Fiat lux. Fiat, fiat, fiat. Non equus est. Homo estes. Homos estos. Fiat lux. The muffled nicker was less and less muffled, more and more like laughter as Borvisivich stumbled again and lost a boot into the freezing mud entirely.

“Shut up!” He set his bare foot down on the muck, swivelling to yell at the animal, rose on his toes and lost the other boot. Then he stopped and stared down at his feet.

“No! Oh, no!” His free hand clawed at his breast where the pocket hung, half torn, empty. He stared in horror at the bit of brass clutched in the horse’s mouth, as he stood with his lips pealed back to let him see it clearly. He looked from the brass to the hooves that had just slid out of his human-shaped boots, leaving them behind. He’d literally stepped out of his boots.

He staggered toward the horse, yanking hard on the reins, making it worse because the faster the animal’s blood seeped into the foam from his mouth the faster the transformation happened. The horse danced backward, out of reach, pulling back against the rein. “Whee ee ee ee.” It was obviously laughter this time.

Borvisivich turned, flung his other hand to catch the rein and stared in shock as the leather draped over an awkwardly bent fetlock instead of clutching higher on the rein to drag his prisoner close. The horse tongued the brass and even as the Kaptain stumbled up close, breast to nose, swallowed it.

“No! You bag of bones! You ass! You are my prisoner! M… yy… mee meee!” His voice expanded as his face did. He clawed at his horse with his fore-limbs, both hands already fully transformed. His horse flung his head up, away from the flailing hooves. For a second they were half-reared up. The horse’s hoof tore more of the Russian officer’s coat, taking a ragged slash of a wound on his horse’s shoulder… but was the horse overlaid on the man as the man was overlaid on the horse?

They broke apart, separated by a few feet, the cord of light instead of reins connecting them head to head.

I… I’m bigger. I’m… my hands… damn that Frenchman! Damn him! He could feel the swell of his cheek, the muscle to support the long grass-chewing face. His arms were fully transformed as his belly blew up and burst the waistband of his uniform trousers. My neck… The heavy muscles rolling under hide, hair sprouting and spreading from his head. His vision was going gray but he could see the Frenchman standing up on two legs once more, his arms had shortened enough for him to do that. The fingers separated with a pop. That’s my ring on that finger! That’s my families crest!

He turned his head in time to look into the other man’s eyes and realized with shock that he was not transforming into his original form but HIS form! He was taking on the sharp Russian cavalry uniform, the tight blue sleeves, the white front plaquettes torn and soiled, the mud ground into it, the brass mucky. The high collar… MY collar! Mine! Mine!

His body was longer and he couldn’t maintain the upright stance, his forelegs trailing straight down. He tried to scream as he settled onto all fours and felt the thrust of tail dissolving what had been his white breeches. His hair grew coarser and he shuddered all the way down over his shoulders as the mane sprouted like stalks of grass following the quivering skin.

His haunches grew bulk and power and his cock poured out of his sheath since he no longer had breeches to contain him, but did have the fleshy sheath. He stamped his hooves… they had hardened and he tried to scream again, but the human… the imposter… the damned Frenchman who had carried him through the Russian mud and fought him every step of the way, even as he forced him to strategize, to get his command – at least the last dozen men – to the lines… aiming, perhaps for the unit commanded by Durova.

“Be silent! Do you wish to kill us all?” The man said in perfect Russian, HIS perfect Russian, aristocratic accent. He straightened and smoothed the small pencil moustache with one fingertip. My body, my face, my uniform. I’m the Kaptain, not him! He’s the enemy. My face. My face!

He could feel the heaviness of the metal shoes, the bite of the curb, the heavy cavalry saddle on his back, clinging tight all the way around his belly. The pressure of the criss-crossed bridle over his face, his forehead, the tightness of the breast straps. The blanket flapped against his loin and he couldn’t help himself, he shied and the man brought him up short against the reins holding onto his mouth.

“You brainless bag of glue! You want to get your own form back? You do? Be still! I will get us back through the line in your horrible country and save your face for you. Behave!” The once Russian Kaptain blew through his pink-rimmed nostrils, as the human officer checked his spurs. He whinnied, but softly, his protest minimal as he could feel the edges of his thinking blurr. How did he do that? He was as smart as a man when he was in horse form. It’s not fair! He pawed the ground, digging a hole as the brand new officer gained control of his body and perused the map.

“I’m going to get the spell back in a day or so… but you may not wish to seize it in your teeth after that, Borvisivich’s!” The horse bared its teeth and pinned his ears back, almost snarling. “Ah, ah, allow me my little jokes, ma bien, just as you had them with me, non?” He jerked on the reins and the curb cut the horse, making him snort. “I have a way through for us, I believe, mon vieux.”

**

“Kaptain!” His command were on their feet, concerned. Only three of them had their rifles and ammunition left. “We heard your horse and thought…”

“You thought the French had found me and were taking me and my horse apart, hmmm? Not to worry, Sander.” The Kaptain smoothed the mud off his face idly as he spoke. “We’ll be back in safety late tonight.”

“Bravo, Kaptain! Bravo!”

“I expect to connect with Durova’s forces near Vlirischiy, a tiny village, north-east of here. We’re on the right river.” He paused and rolled an ironic eye back at his horse. “You’ll be able to say ‘Dosvydanya Kaptain’ to me and embrace your wives and sweethearts in Mosvka before snow flies.”

With the spell safely in his belly the pseudo Kaptain tossed the reins to his underling. “Settle him down, would you? He’s been so skittish. I need to get something hot in my belly.”

Author's Note

I'm not succeeding well on this post tonight... if I don't manage to post tonight, I'll post tomorrow. It's a problem I have... sorry.

163 - Investigator to the Imperium

My dearest Ela,

 

Even if I will not actually be allowed to send this, I find enormous comfort in writing it. We have now acquired more paper so I shall indulge myself, though I shall write small. Perhaps one day I will be able to let you know what happened. I have never in my life been so glad you pestered me to teach you how to read, despite father suspecting us. For a woman you were a constant surprise to me, rather better than some of my own students over the years. I hope you have remembered how.

 

We are currently hiding in the woods, in the mountains somewhere east of the city. My great God, I hope you are safe with Filia and her husband, that the nephews and nieces are all safe… What happened to you in the sack[s] of the city? I’m sorry, I worry and you cannot let me know. I pray to Muunas daily for your health and safety.

 

You know how I would complain of tutoring the Spark, of his recalcitrance, his defiance. I told you he once hurled a priceless vase over my head? Well. I find myself in a peculiar position and am annoyed with myself that I did not see that most of that was to drive me away. The boy is proving a devious strategist and I realize it is from years of balancing his Father’s [rest he in Selestialis] wishes against justice. Even mercy. I had suspected it, but never confirmed it, as a proper study of him would have shown. As a tutor and researcher I should have seen it more clearly.

 

We two are now aligned against the boy’s guardian, who is 2^nd Amitzas Mahid, the First of the Mahid now, as far as we can surmise. He is an appalling man. Had I not had an inkling of the Spark’s true character I would have thought an unspeakable man exactly what was needed to make him better and merely laughed at the brutality forced on him. I will spare your delicate sensibilities, dear sister and not enumerate any of them to you, I am sure you can imagine, should you care to.

 

You may have concluded that this is not the case. The Spark is a good boy fighting his guardian, to not be made into a power-mad monster.

 

I am afraid for Minis’s strength in the situation he is in. He has been driven to collapse. The First of the Mahid is peculiarly blind to the limits of people’s strength and must be informed of it over and over again. I find that odd in a torturer, since he must, to be good at what he does, know to the absolute hair, people’s limits. I believe he is off balance in this situation and is doing what most off balance people do – recurse to the basest of what they know. He knows brute force first.

 

I must encourage Minis to cease pushing the man. They are settling into a defiant student/teacher mode that is most dangerous to the boy, since by the former Imperator’s wish he is subject to Amitzas’s correction should he push too hard. Yet Minis seems incapable of keeping his head down. Perhaps it is because he is growing up; young males push the older ones by nature. Or perhaps he bowed his head to an oppressive authority all his life and has reached his breaking point here. Neither one is a good reason to provoke 2^nd Amitzas and I will certainly attempt to instruct along those lines.

 

Ela, it is a lonely life for this old scholar. For now, I must keep my proper place with the Spark, both for his safety and mine. I will not be able to intervene between 2^nd Amitzas and Minis in any obvious way, and I have no one to talk to. I speak to the Spark’s nurse, out of desperation for a normal conversation and I have found that she is a very sensible woman with a good head on her shoulders. For a woman, of course, but she is pleasant to talk to.

 

I will write more later, Ela, there is a commotion beginning outside this tent that sounds uncannily like… a goat? Later, dear sister. Your loving brother, Ailadas.

**

Perisalas Shefenkas reached up under his cap and scratched. He was going to be very glad when his hair finished growing out to his new caste-level. He ran over the equal to equal in his mind, still not used to it. The last thing I want to do is accidentally address these farmers as a slave. I am a Marble Palace official. Fessas. He wouldn’t have it securely until he dreamed in the fessas accent, he knew, but he was getting there fast.

It was mountainous this far north west of the city, but they were not the crags further into the mountain range. These hills were covered in green from crown to foot. The valleys were where the farmers grew their crops and huddled in the shadows of the trees, only here and there did a cliff stand out bare, vertical rock.

So different from the rolling plains around the city. The river that flowed through and powered the city poured from these mountains. Perisalas leafed through his papers, using his hand-case as a desk. The carry chair was moving more slowly now, as the bearers struggled with the latest grade. The road might be smooth enough compared to out-Empire but the up and down grades made their work more difficult, even around all the switch-backs. I see that I have to learn how to ride if I am to do my job. The Imperator wants the Aan found and I’ll be chasing all over the bedamned Empire to do it. I can see it coming.

His escort were all mounted. Not a matched set nor all the best horseflesh either, but that was to be expected after a war that vicious. I’m lucky to have a mounted escort. Hayel, I’m lucky to be in a position to require one.

They made it into the little village tucked between two of the bare cliffs, most of the houses closer to the one side, the fields spreading from the other down to the creek that gave this town its reason for being here. It was a little village that had been here for thousands of years according to the records. Arkomigas. There was a tiny inn, in front of which Perisalas alighted. “Rest the horses, Nomias. I have no idea how long I’ll be here talking to the locals.”

“Certainly, Ser Shefenkas,” There was no irony in Nomias’s voice, as he called him by his new last name. “We will be over at the government office by the barracks.”

“Very good.” The cachet of being elevated so far covers up a lot of years being a slave.

Perisalas stepped into the inn and found the keeper. “I’m looking for a fellow by the name of Besaras Ormon, fessas.”

“Ser, thet’d be the gaffer there. He’s been drinkin’ most ‘t day. Yeh might not get much outta him.”

“Thank you.” I can almost hear him thinking ‘city man’ and ‘government man’. Well, obvious, since I’m wearing a Marble Palace clerk’s livery. He tugged the belt a hair straighter as he went over to the old man.

“Hello, Ser Ormon.” The old man looked up, blinking as if his livery were a bright light. “You sent in a notification of information on Minis Aan, or any of his party?”

“Party? Don’ know about any party.” Oh my meager sla—professional god. This isn’t as official as I thought it would be. And I thought it was so brilliant to offer a small chain reward for legitimate information about the Aan whelp.

“Ser Ormon, you wrote the Marble Palace investigations, with some information about sighting Minis Aan or Mahid?”

The old man blinked again as Perisalas sat down and pulled out his notes… “Oh… oh yeah. Saw him meself I did!” A younger man came in, looked around the taproom and came straight across the room.

“Excuse me, ser, I’m Besaras Ormon, the junior, fessas. You needed to speak to my father?”

“As I am, Ser Ormon, the junior. I am Perisalas Shefenkas, fessas. Investigator to the Imperium, on assignment.”

“Ser Investigator… Da had too much…”

“Shush, yeh young pup! I shaw… saw what I saw… I tell ya! The Heir under the Mountain! He’s tall, taller n’ slender and his hair fell down over his back and over his horse’s cantle… He ‘s ridin’ a white horse w’ silver hooves and tail an’… an red armour t’looked black unner t’ moon! He did! His face was un-earthly calm, and he had a light roun ‘im, glowin’ round ‘is head, he did! He did!. His dogs, his Mahid, and they rode around ‘im they ran around ‘im … his Mahid… they were dogs, black dogs big as a horse, Ser!” Once the old man got going he was obviously a storyteller.

“Ser Investigator! Da had a bit too much o’ the pipe as well as his pint. If you made a trip all this way I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We –“

Perisalas interrupted him. “Ser Ormon –“ The old man continued louder, over-riding both younger men.

“I saw what I saw, yeh tit-lickin’ pup! The Heir under the Mountain! He rode right through me flock oh sheep! Took a dozen of em with! They was followin’ them goats he had on leads. Two golden goats pullin’ t’ sun-wagon. T’ gov’mnt shoulda warn’t us. Warnt us and a dozen o’ ma sheep gone inta t’ mountain w’ IM! He’s tall as two men I say! His black dogs bigger n’ horses! W’ silver teeth!”

Perisalas signaled the keeper and waved at the old man who was struggling to get up, his son holding him down with a kind, firm hand on his shoulder.

"'oo's gonna pay for me fikket sheep? 't new wool-hair -He Whose Hair's Wool-- Him who didn't kilt the old line? Mah sheep!"

“Get him another pint, shall we?” It's going to be a long day. Hayel, it's going to be a long year.

162 - The Gods Choose

SHEFENKAS SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETES TEN TENS!

I stared down at the headline as if it were staring back at me. The whole front page was devoted to it; in fact most of the Pages was devoted to stories about the ‘most moving Ten Tens’ in living history.

 

“Teary-eyed Crowd Watches in Stunned Amazement”

 

“Yeoli Performs Ritual Flawlessly”

I knew he could do it. Ailadas ‘ahemed’ at me a couple of times. “You see, Spark of the Sun’s Ray, he did find a way to feign the Ascension ritual.” I sat in my wooden Palace, sweating into armour padding. I was not mad. They all were. My taking back the Empire had just become howling at the moon crazy and my chances – even if I truly wanted to – had become less than non-existent.

I folded the Pages neatly so the biggest headline… the Banner… lay face-up, smoothing the crease with my thumbnail. “Ailadas. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but could I have a few moments in private, if you please?”

“Oh, ahem, oh, certainly, Spark… Minis…” It was so hard to get him to throw away that formality.

“If you could inform my guardian that this was my request, so you don’t get in trouble for letting me slacken off, please?”

“Ahem. If it becomes necessary, I will – ahem --- of course do that.” He left his things. I needed to be in privacy. I couldn’t let anyone see what was boiling in me. I couldn’t let anyone see it.

“Gannara, could you go get me… something… anything… um… did Matthas bring kaf beans?”

He looked at me as though I was going to run mad. In a way I felt I might, if I didn’t get some time to just be alone. The top of my head felt like it was going to pop off as though 2^nd Amitzas had an iron and wood cage around it and tightening the screws. Gannara nodded to me and himself. “I’ll be gone a while, checking… maybe he did buy some kaf.” And finally, blessedly, he left me, shutting the door. I sat in the blessed dimness and finally let the tears come.

I had hoped. I had prayed, to the Goddess at least in the hope that the Ten might forgive me for being my Father’s son, for being an Aan and a Mahid both. The Pages crackled under my hands as my hands clenched on them. He deserved it. Chevenga deserved to be raised up so high. I knew it and had steadfastly ignored it because to acknowledge it was to embrace my own place in the Universe.

I had thought I had found the deepest darkness when I wrote about my damnation, but there was still a doubt about it. I still had the possibility of salvation if I lived long enough. “The blood of the Father flows in the veins of the Son,” I whispered into the dimness, quoting the Book.

The tears hadn’t spilled… they stood in my eyes as though my bottom lids were rimmed. “The Gods choose. The Gods raise who they will. And will cast into the bottomless pit the tainted, the dark, the deformed. The Sun will devour them all and deepest space will diminish them. Their breath will burst out of them, their blood will boil and their eternity will be smothering.”

The tears spilled out, finally and I knew… I knew that I was damned. I was lost. There was no salvation for me in this life or the next. I put my head down on the Pages and pounded my fists against the desk on either side. And for the rest of my life… however long I could bear it, I would be captive in a brutal man’s hands. “Out of the depths of despair, I cry… I cry to thee oh Lord…”

I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I mustn’t. The Aan line was done, flushed down the drain. The Gods had raised a true Imperator and His duty to the Empire, to the People and to the Gods, would be to find me, and kill me. It was His duty to do so, no matter what He felt, it would be what duty demanded. He would do His best to do His duty by the Empire. He would do Semana kra for Arko, to the limit of His strength.

It was even a law in Arko. I was a threat to the legitimate Imperator, approved by the Gods. They... the Ten... loved Him as much as I did. I clenched my eyes shut and knocked my head against the desk, feeling the paper under it. I did. I loved Him. My memory was filled with that night again and I cried out in choked horror when my genitals tightened at the memory. No wonder. No wonder the Gods hated me. How was I going to bear this? The weight of one God’s hatred was more than enough to crush me. How was I going to bear this?

Is that noise, me? I didn’t know I could even make a sound like that. My sobs broke deep and I sounded like a man weeping, not a child. I’d heard enough men in agony to know the sound. I heard the latch click as Gannara rattled it and I clamped my lips shut on the noise, swallowed the lump of suffering. It went down like it was on fire but I found my silence again. Somehow I raised my head and turned away from the door as it opened.

I… had to make myself stone. A stone pillar had a chance of surviving the weight of a building. Stone. For now… I would do what I must. “Did…” I had to swallow harder. “Did Matthas bring kaf?”

161 - Capers

I was allowed to rest in bed for three whole days, with lessons from Ailadas continuing. That helped me feel better. I was less bored.

Ailadas mentioned to me that Matthas had been sent out for more news and supplies. There had been a number of successful hunts by others so there was venison and wild goat on the menu now. The trained Mahid had found wild tubers, vegetables, and grains for us as well. The grains weren’t enough to make flour with, but at least gave the barley some more flavor. The other thing someone was supplying was mushrooms. Trust a Mahid to know what toxic mushrooms looked like… in this case, to avoid them.

I really didn’t want to get up, feeling my tiredness in every limb and was not anticipating tomorrow, when the medic said I could be out of bed again. I had my arm thrown over my eyes and not paying attention to the rising noise outside until Gannara cracked the door open and then stood still, looking out, as though someone had turned him to stone. I took my arm down because there were sounds coming from outside I never thought I’d hear Mahid make.

Then Gannara giggled. He’d turned his face in behind the door and pulled it all the way open so I could see. In the narrow frame of the door I could see four Mahid running in circles trying to corner a goat. It trailed a rope attached to a chunk of log that came up behind, tripped one of the Mahid, sending his feet flying straight up and him sprawling flat on his back.

Another lay on the ground one hand clutching his genitals, the other over his head as the goat, the log and the Mahid in pursuit trampled over him. Normally silent Mahid were yelling, shouting directions at one another.

There was a bucket being kicked around in the mess and another Mahid hit the ground falling over it. Boras Mahid grabbed the goat as it leaped into the air, by one leg and somehow it – she -- kicked him in the chest while she was in midair, twisting to almost evade Donaras. Almost, because she somehow caught him in the side of the head with her horns.

He fell to all fours, shaking his head, and the goat trotted off toward other goats that I realized were tied up to other trees. The log she was dragging hit Donaras where he was on all fours and checked her progress. She whirled around and stamped one front hoof, then both, half standing up on her hind legs. Two more Mahid, Iakobas and Rilas, who had been chasing her skidded to a stop. Donaras sat up from where he’d been knocked into the mud, scrubbing at his face.

I’d gotten up to see better, sitting up and putting my feet down. I had to giggle. I had to. She was facing them down! She stamped and stretched out her face toward them, long as a snake’s, but with the ears hanging down, and let out a long, long ‘bbbbbbbaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh’. Donaras, still sitting, hurled the muck he’d scraped off his face at the goat.

“Mahid!” 2^nd Amitzas actually raised his voice at Donaras showing his frustration. “It is merely a goat. It is incapable of showing derision.”

“MMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAeeeAAAAAA!” 2^nd Amitzas turned and strode toward the goat’s tether, seized it near the log, braced his feet and began hauling it toward himself.

Gannara whispered in my ear… “He shouldn’t do that.”

"Why shouldn't he do---" The goat’s neck stretched and her legs set, and all of a sudden she seemed to gain an enormous amount of weight. 2^nd Amitzas suddenly stopped gaining any ground, the rope stretching tight between himself and the goat. I had to laugh even harder. None of the others moved from where they stood or crouched or sprawled. “Oh. My. Um, but Gannara, why shouldn't he --” I had both hands over my mouth trying to keep my laughter in but 2nd Amitzas didn't have a chance of hearing me, he was focused on the animal.

The women and Ilesias were watching across the partly open ground and he was jumping up and down, squealing “Goat! Goat! Goat!”

Gannara whispered in my ear… “Good cheer, Ilesias. Go, goat go!”

I pulled in a deep breath and held it. The détente out there couldn’t last. In a blink, the goat quit pulling and lunged forward toward 2^nd Amitzas. Even as he staggered backward as the rope went slack, her forehead… her horns… hit him squarely in the genitals. I puffed my breath out sharply. Oh. She literally danced backward. He was on his feet for a frozen moment, then fell over like a tree chopped down, but without a sound, and he still didn’t show anything on his face. "That's why he shouldn't do that," I said. I felt Gannara nod.

The goat trotted over 2nd Amitzas, stepping daintily over him, as if he were a carpet for her tiny hooves. He rolled over, and up onto his knees, avoiding the log as she dragged it. Still on his knees, he pulled out his dart tube, raised it and somehow found the air, the puff, to shoot a dart into her retreating haunch.

She kept on going for a half dozen steps, staggered sideways one direction, then the other, then collapsed onto her front knees and toppled softly sideways. I could hear 2^nd Amitzas’s voice, rasping harsh as he set one foot on the ground, set his elbow on the raised knee on that side and used it to lever himself up by it. “We… will… re-think this, Mahid.” The others had gotten up, bruised, bloodied and covered with mud, standing as if for inspection in the Marble Palace.

Gannara snickered. “Re-think it? Why not just send one of the women and Ilesias, posing as her kid, to buy milk from a local farmer?”

I turned to look at him. “Milk and cheese both. That’s brilliant!”

He looked at me as though I was dumb. “You Arkans. You just don’t credit women with any sense at all. And no one would think of a woman and child as part of your entourage.”

“Yeolis,” I snorted at him, as the Mahid began cleaning up the field of battle outside. “You think women can do anything… but there’s a milakraseye who could think her way around 2^nd Amitzas before the first meal of the day.”

He laughed, surprised. “You know a milakraseye?” Then he turned his head as fresh noise came from outside. “You don’t think they just tried to milk another one, do you?”

Author's Note

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