Wine of the Gods 03: The Black Goats (15 page)

They all swapped looks and shrugs, and then the Auld Wulf and the Sheep Man stumbled through the door, guided by two of the King's Own. The Magician made a faint choking noise.

"I still make the best wine in the west.” The Auld Wulf announced, collapsing in a chair. "Just proved it."

The Sheep Man sat with less speed and more dignity. "We had to try an awful lot to be sure."

"Better cellar than Harry's here." Having delivered the ultimate accolade, the Auld Wulf leaned his head back and started sno
ring. The troopers saluted the mage and withdrew.

The King's Magician sidled up to the Auld Wulf, reached out a cautious hand to place a single finger on his right hand.

"He's just an old god," the Sheep Man told him. "Not any big deal. Out-dated. Nobody's prayed to him for centuries."

"Just." The mage's voice was a bit faint and shocky-sounding. "And you ladies? Two witches' triads?" They nodded. He looked over at the Sheep Man.

"Evil wizard." He grinned wickedly. "Retired."

The magician closed his eyes briefly. Then they popped open. "What about the boy? And are there more of you?"

"Harry's the old god of the crossroads. Anyone lost and wandering on the roads is likely to find themselves at his door. We haven't done anything to the boy—other than raise him and educate him. What he is, is what he is, and yes, there are more of us. We just live nice and quiet and try not to bother anyone."

"The, umm, Church of Ba'al had an interesting adventure out your direction. The king was much disturbed that they fielded an army without his permission. Their story was . . .  unbelievable. If I hadn't seen the body of the Black Goat of Scoone myself."

The Sheep Man chuckled. "Are they actually going to stuff and mount him? An unfortunately apt choice of word for that particular pervert."

"That particular . . . there were said to have been eight Black Goats . . . "

"I told the others to behave, mostly."

"Mostly." Very faint.

"Yep. Don't give a damn what they do to followers of Ba'al."

"Are you, umm, responsible for them?"

"Every man is responsible for himself." The Sheep Man's brow crinkled a little, as if the idea that the goats might be his fault had taken him by surprise.

They stayed a few days, so that Harry could see Fossi settled.

"He and his dad took to each other right away," Harry said. "And the princess, she's sweet, and thinks he's a really smart boy. The little prince even likes him. He's home, let's get out of here."

They got an honor guard, most of their old friends from the colonel's troop, and made the return trip to Havwee in an easy three weeks. The other candidates and their families had been royally remunerated for their troubles, and made plans for larger houses or bigger businesses as they traveled. The teenagers figured they were well set, and Harry invited Brock to set up a store in Ash. "Try it for a year. If you can't stand us, off you go, with plenty of money to set up wherever you want."

They sold two wagons and teams, shopped for Answer's minerals, and a few other fripperies then started for home. And to no one's surprise, Piph came too.

Question even got to lead their reduced caravan into Ash, Kite and the very frisky Chocolate prancing down the last hill.

Captain Bail Wullo took an informal report from Lieutenant Byson Trehem at dinner, as had become their habit. Six months ago he wouldn't have believed dinner with the royal nephew could be anything but tedious.

". . . and those two recruits from Ash are working out well." The lieutenant stopped to savor the fragrant lamb curry. "The redhead, Bran, is the butcher's son, so I turned him over to the quartermaster, who thinks the sun rises and sets on him. Oscar, he's the foster son of that tavern owner, reads, writes, knows his history and maps, and his numbers
and
he's been taught which end of a sword is which. He's even done a bit of jousting."

Bail nodded. "I'd like to know Harry's story. Bet he's a veteran of the Auralian War."

Byson nodded. "Probably."

Bail tried the creamed greens. Delicious. "So, have you seen the lime kiln? Is it done?"

"They're bringing in coal to test-fire it. We may be able to make cement as early as next week. How far up is the roadbed laid?"

"We've compacted it all the way to the pass. I doubt it'll stay warm enough long enough at those altitudes to lay the surface this year. I'm hoping the worst of the weather will hold off long enough to survey all the way through, and do a bit of work to shift runoff channels." Bail contemplated his work with satisfaction.

"Heard from Lefty?"

"Not recently.
Perhaps I should have waited until Spring to let him follow the Old Road across the desert." Bail sighed. "But he persuaded me that he'd be almost a year ahead if he just planned to winter over somewhere out there."

"
Rumor has it that he lived wild in the Desert for a couple of years before someone persuaded him to enlist." Byson looked innocent.

Old Gods. Must talk to those witches about bottling their influence . . .

"Can't imagine where a story like that came from. I first met him when he was being hired as an occasional guide down east of Farofo. I was, of course, delighted when he enlisted."

Byson snorted. "
The old maps show that it's about two thousand miles to Scoone. He should be able to make the distance by the end of next summer. I wonder what he'll find on the far side? I've never heard anything that wasn't third-hand through sailors. We don't have any direct trade with them. Scoone has such a reputation from antiquity for everything from being the Witches' City to the home of the Tyrant Wizards. At least the tyrants we have some written evidence for. The witches are nearly as mythical as the gods."

Bail chewed dinner and commented. "There were witches and mages in the Auralian War."

Byson shrugged. "That's what they say, but we never hear about them destroying whole armies and so forth, like in the stories. The mages
might
have fussed with the weather, the witches
might
have caused some landslides. But all you really hear about is how, whenever one side or the other fielded any magic users, the other side rushed troops in to overwhelm and kill them. I expect that's why there aren't any left."

Bail nodded slowly. "I expect any survivors kept quiet. At least around here."

***

Oscar trotted his horse in Lieutenant Byson Trehem's wake. The last seven months had been everything he'd ever dreamed of, and a lot he hadn't.

The older soldiers had started out treating him as if he were a clumsy puppy, needing much training, and been surprised when he'd held his own with a sword. And knew how to make a bed, and all the thousands of things Harry had already trained him to do. Even the officers had been impressed. And he could ride, and he could hold a lance, although the real lances balanced a bit differently than the fleece-padded poles they'd played with at home.

He hadn't realize
d that the book-learning his old tutor, and more recently, Harry, had drilled into him would be such an asset. But here he was, the lieutenant’s aide, helping get the two companies on the road and headed for winter quarters outside Karista.

They would be taking the Old Road all the way.

Well, except for a detour here and there. In a way he was glad to not be going through Ash. It would hurt to say goodbye. And he might see Fava. When Tivo and Theo brought sheep in, they told him that Fava was
huge
. His mind circled back to
that
night. It seemed like a vivid dream, not a memory.

He couldn't possibly have engendered a child, could he?

So he took notes of who was where, and who needed what, and what still needed to be done.

He spotted Bran, but didn't have time to talk to him. The quartermaster who had come up with the second company had put him in charge of butchering, so Bran had been able to keep up with his mage drills. He was a little envious of Oscar's more military duties, but also more and more drawn into the magic.

At the moment Bran was packing equipment, the area around the wagons bare and empty, the job almost complete.

Lieutenant Trehem dismounted to speak to the quartermaster, and Oscar joined him.

"We're pretty much packed and ready to roll. Breakfast tomorrow and we're out of here."

"Excellent. We'll be leading out two hours after dawn and setting up camp before nightfall at the rapids."

"Yes, sir. I've a team that will move out at dawn and set up a kitchen before the troops catch up."

Oscar made a note of that. He'd already learned to not rely on his memory. There were so many details that information you'd never think you'd forget got buried. But everything was getting packed—or in a few cases, stored inside the fort—with amazing speed.

After breakfast, they marched, leaving the fort closed up and clean.

Oscar spent the rest of the move to Karista riding back and forth, carrying messages and orders and reports. At one point he figured that he had covered the whole distance at least three times over.

Then, with Karista in sight, they swung wide and found their winter quarters.

These buildings had also been left clean and tight. Unfortunately in the summer that was insufficient to keep out any number of pests, and quite a bit of dust. So they cleaned before they moved in. It didn't take long, the way the
army worked.

The
king, unfortunately, was not about to let them just relax for the winter. They reorganized for duties, and Oscar and Bran found themselves in school.

"Your commanding officers were impressed with you both. So we'll start you in a school that all our officers attend. How far you go will be up to you, and up to the needs of the kingdom," Captain Wullo told them, and sent them off with Lieutenant Trehem.

"You are in school, sir?" Oscar asked.

He chuckled. "Yes and yes. I'll be getting lectured by the brilliant old goats," they both flinched, "of generals. And I'll be teaching the lower level classes."

The School of Military Science was part of the King's Colleges, located adjacent to the Royal Palace Grounds.

"General Hastin is in command of the school, and on the Board of Directors of the entire College. You'll find many of the instructors and students are members of the King's Own. So you'd best understand the differences in their command structure.

"General Kersh Negue is the Commander of the King's Own. He is the king's brother. Colonel Rufi Negue is the crown prince’s brother and will take over the King's Own when General Kersh Negue retires." Byson looked at them. "Do you understand the way the first and second sons of the king's duties fall?"

"Yes, sir. First prince to the army,
second prince to the throne." Oscar answered.

"Good. Now I've just learned that the crown prince's first son will be taking classes. He's very young, he's been raised elsewhere and he is a bastard, but you will treat him with respect."

"Yes, sir," Bran smirked a bit. "In Ash Valley, we really don't calculate bastardy and so forth like other people do." His eyes swung to the right and his jaw dropped. "Fossi? What are you doing here?"

Oscar looked around. "Fossi!"

His younger brother dashed down a flight of stairs and threw his arms around his brother. "Oscar! What are you doing here? I thought you were up at the fort?"

"Closed for the winter.
Now what are you doing here? Harry's got to be frantic! What happened?"

Fossi reached out and punched Bran. “Boy, are you two in trouble."

A bunch of large men had followed Fossi, and were now studying them.

"Sir?" They addressed Lieutenant Trehem. "Who are these young men?"

"Bran Butcher and Oscar Harryson. Recruits from Ash, up by Fort Stag. They are attending the officer's classes this winter."

Fossi looked back at the men. "Oscar is one of my foster brothers and Bran is a friend."

Bran's eyes were getting wide. "Fossi, please don't tell me that
you
are this bastard prince we just got lectured about being polite to?"

"Yeah. Isn't it neat! I found my real father. You're going to be in school here? That's great!" Fossi looked relieved. "I didn't think I'd know anyone."

"Oh, man. What did Harry say?"

One of the tall men snorted. A colonel if Oscar was interpreting the insignia correctly. "That if we'd meant him harm we'd all be dead. Then he and two other old men showed us how they'd have done it. And that's before we got the archery demonstration from the women."

"Ash doesn't have very many problems with bandits, sir." Oscar got that out with a straight face. The other two boys snickered. Only a couple of the officers didn't look puzzled.

The colonel chuckled. "I'd like to be able to keep those old men around to teach sword work. It had to be seen to be believed."

"The Auld Wulf, Harry and the Sheep Man." Fossi told them. They nodded comprehension.

Byson had been taking it all in. "So that's why you two are so good with swords? You had some good trainers?"

"Yes, sir. Mostly the Auld Wulf. Harry, our foster dad, sometimes. They're incredible."

The colonel nodded. "We were on our way to show Prince Fossi around the school; will you join us, lieutenant, privates?"

Oscar caught sight of an old man up the staircase. He was stroking his beard thoughtfully.

***

Question was grateful that the snow held off. The livestock could be turned out every day, even though they needed supplemental feed, with the meadows browned by the freezing nights. It cut in half the amount of manure she had to shovel.

Her father was
trying
to teach her how to do it magically, but admitted that the weak winter sunshine wasn't the best teaching environment. "And we are not going to use lightning until you've had a great deal more practice with sunshine." Funny to think the first time she'd used lightning she hadn't even realized what she was doing. He'd noticed, though. And was trying to steer her more toward traditional wizardry. It wasn't working well. Sunshine wasn't the same.

The Sheep Man had sent the last batch of sheep off to the
fort, to last them until they moved back to their winter quarters outside Karista.  His breeding flock was settled in for the winter. And to her surprise, he had whipped up a new barn for horses. Kite and Choc stayed there, and a bunch of the new mares. Choc had gotten a bit too much of that wine, and grown a pair of nads a month after they'd gotten home. She'd thought he was colicing, the pain he'd been in. Her father actually seemed to approve. "He's the best of the geldings, but he's getting kinda old. We can use him to get a good herd of horses started." He'd looked around, paced restlessly. "We're going to need horses. Don't know why I feel that way yet," he shrugged. "They're less work than cows. Probably ought to get more cows too. Feed that fort.”

"You're back in the
world, now, aren't you? Not hiding in our little valley." Justice examined the woodwork of the barn. They hadn't heard her come. " How can you work wood, Sun Wizard?"

"Trees, all plants, really, eat sunshine. And sourcing from fire makes manipulating fire easiest, but anything else can be handled as well." He leaned over her fat belly and kissed her. "Is it that I'm paying attention to the
world, or that the world is paying attention to us?"

"We're growing." She looked down and smiled. "We'll nearly double our population in the next month. We'll need, soon enough, new houses, and new farms. The mages are talking about breaking new fields next year, and they're right."

"Yeah," the Sheep Man scratched his chin. "Damn goats, I miss not having them around to herd the sheep."

"I don't. Get some dogs, next time."

"Dogs are just as randy as . . . yes, of course. Dogs would be much better."

"Plain old normal dogs, mind you."

***

Duke Rivolte paced angrily. He should never have listened to the man. Why the hell had he listened to the man?
"Lord Raide”—he'd never heard of him before, but he'd tossed his honor and risked his family's fortune and his life because of advice from a man he'd not known above a month.