Wine of the Gods 03: The Black Goats (3 page)

"Three riders on the south road. Lots of flash."

"Hmm." Flash—light reflecting off of metal buttons, buckles, weapons, armor, and metal on the horses’ tack—meant they probably weren't bandits. "Get the Sisters of the Half Moon to their posts, but I want the Crescents down in the street."

Question bobbed her head and dashed off.

"All three of them together?" Delight asked.

"Yes. They've each had a chance without competition; now let’s see how they do with it." She sighed. "Maybe I'm just impatient. The mages are doing well. And the Auld Wulf, Harry and Old Gisele. Although we don't have any idea how they ought to be doing. Who would have thought a magical war could bring down even the gods?"

"Now
, Mother," Happy hugged the old witch. "Let's give the Crescent Moons a little time. It'll work out well in the end. The old gods withdrew from human society centuries ago. They seem quite happy up here, doing very little."

Blissful nodded. "We should also send out summonings. There were always a few outside women with abilities. We ought to try and attract them."

Answer nodded. "Perhaps a few charms on the wagons every time we make a trip to town wouldn't hurt. Today, let's see if the Crescents can make some progress."

***

To Never's fury, Likely and Mostly made it to the street first, laughing as they crossed it, walking over toward the tavern. They stopped half-way across and pretended surprise at the sight of the three riders.

The riders stopped too. The man in front was tall and thin, raven-black hair cut short to wear a helm, but with a devastating single curl down over his forehead. The boy behind him to his right was a bulky redhead with an arrogant curl to his lip and a gem-encrusted sword at his side. The third man was plainer and older. When the first man dismounted, the older one did as well, and took his commander's reins.

The bulky boy thudded down off his horse and tossed his reins to the third man as well.

Never scowled, and waited until Likely and Mostly had escorted the two inside before crossing the street herself. The older man led the horses around to the stables in the back, throwing her an appreciative look, before he rounded the corner.

Great. They got the nobles, she attracted the groom.

Inside it didn't get any better. Mostly and Likely were sitting with the men, acting like ladies. Furious waved Never back to the kitchen, and set her to serving the foursome. Mostly and Likely hid smirks as she poured the wine.

"Captain Wullo came through just two days ago." Mostly smiled charmingly at the young man, clearly picking up a conversation already started. "With all of you mounted, well, it's still too late in the day for you to reach the Fort tonight. Especially since the ground is rough, thereabouts. If you bide the night here, you can ride out in the morning and find the captain mid-afternoon."

Up close, Never could see the royal pin
on the man's tunic. "You're a royal courier?" she asked, pouring more wine.

"That I am, miss," he looked her over appreciatively. “Lord Merc Hastin, at your service. And this is Lord Ferth Utner."

The redhead leered as he looked her over, but turned back to Likely without any show of reluctance.

"Do you get any Travelers through here?" Lord Merc asked.

Never glanced up, but the man was speaking to Mostly.

"Travelers? There were some that came here, oh, five or six years ago, but they haven't been back since." Mostly told him. "Is there a problem?"

"Who knows." The Lord shrugged.

"Tell us about the city." Likely beamed at the redhead. “The balls and dances."

"The fashions." Mostly picked at her dress, how had she managed to be wearing one of her good dresses at just the right time? "What are the ladies wearing in the city  these days?"

Never rolled her eyes and retreated to the kitchen for bread and butter. She was just wearing a belted shift and long vest, and no doubt looked like a peasant to men from the city.

". . . and then the little tyke, instead of grabbing the spear like he was supposed to, climbed right over it and took up the crown and put it on before anyone could try and snatch it away." Ferth learned back with a smirk.

Likely looked puzzled. “But, if he was the king's grandson, wasn't that all right?"

"No, no! It's the tradition of the royal family, some say it powers a magical spell that protects the kingdom, that the first son takes up the spear and becomes the commander of the army, and the second son takes the crown and in time becomes the next king."

"Well, he's just a baby, they couldn't expect him to get it right."

"Ah, but you see," Merc took over the story, "it has been the habit of the royal family to take first a commoner for wife, to breed a strong healthy son. Then to divorce her and marry a noblewoman with good connections, to support the second son when he takes the throne."

"So, they are saying that the prince
must have gotten a bastard somewhere, and so the crown prince is stuck with the common wife." Ferth wrinkled his nose.

"Not that the prince minded, mind you. After all the yelling and fuss, someone finally said something about him being stuck with her. And they just looked at each other and started smiling, and then there was a deal of kissing and hugging. Very undignified." Merc shrugged. “Which is all well and good, but where is the bastard son? We have to find him. The kingdom must have a Spear Carrier."

Never hustled back to the kitchen and scooped up the platter of roast beef and taters.

It smelled heavenly, and the conversation at the table dropped off as they tucked into it. Never ran back and forth with more wine, and a platter of steaming tender new vegetables.

"That's why we were asking about the Travelers." Merc was saying. "The prince's retainers always make sure that any wench he tups takes golden thread, and they check them later, but he got away from them a bit with the Travelers, and they couldn't track them down." He shrugged. "Travelers. The king's men don't even know what clan they're looking for, let alone the girl's name. If the boy even exists, he'd be nearly ten years old. Everyone pretty much thinks the prince and princess are insisting on the existence of a bastard so they can stay together forever. Damned stupid of them, falling in love."

"It's touching enough to make one ill." Ferth snorted. "The babe has no connections, how will he rule? It's ridiculous to be so superstitious."

Never cleared the table and brought out pie.

"I think that's nearly as exciting as the Lost Prince of Cove Islands." Mostly was saying.

"You really understand how things work in the city, don't you?" Likely was saying.

Never refrained from dropping the hot teapot on either of them, and left them in peace.

"I'm going to be last!" she wailed to her mother, who was peeking out at the diners from the kitchen.

Happy patted her shoulder. "There'll be another man along sooner or later. I took a look at the groom. What do they call them? Curbs? Curbsiders? Don't even think about it."

"I wasn't," she grumped. "The only thing worse than no daughter this year would be a daughter like—“ she shut up quickly at her mother's frown. "Sorry. I love Question to bits, but, well, I guess she just needs time." With a sigh, she took herself off to the hot springs for a night's meditations. Maybe some bandit would come along and rape her there where the power was strongest. That'd show Mostly and Likely how to do it right.

***

Bail got back to the fort just before dark and found a royal courier taking his ease in the commandant's quarters. More used to impatience than indolence in couriers, Bail eyed the man uncertainly. The man's outrider, a youngster getting a bit of experience on the road no doubt, was asleep in a chair. Only their curb was alert, but the eye he turned to his superiors was indulgent. Bail overheard him talking to Gruff as he passed. ". . . women kept them busy all night."

Lieutenant Byson's footsteps hesitated, then resumed walking, stomping angrily as he followed Bail into the office.

The courier handed over the dispatch bags, failing to stifle a yawn.

"Long ride?"

"Fast ride, made it up here in ten days." The man stretched, and grinned.

Figured a co
urier would brag about speed. Bail had taken thirty, a necessity with foot troops and wagons. He opened the dispatches in reverse order, figuring their importance would be reflected in the urgency with which they'd been sent. "Travelers? Haven't seen any up here. There were some in Wallenton, but with a garrison there, they've no doubt been checked. Hmph, what a mess."

Next dispatch. "General Baring is on his way?" He calculated quickly. "Five more days. I'll take some of the men out to meet him, an honor guard, three days from now."

***

"Mostly and Likely are up at the Hot Springs, soaking up a bit of power, hoping to help any pregnancies along." Justice sighed. "Never is, well, rethinking how to deal with men. I suppose that lieutenant will come back through here
; maybe she can apologize and start something up again. None of the three New Moons showed any sign of being able to touch the power."

Happy spoke up hesitantly. "I was talking with Never, talking about the history of our pyramid." She glanced apologetically at Answer and Blissful. "I told her how pyramids used to communicate, and sometimes their surplus people would get together and form a new pyramid."

"If you think we can find spare witches out there to join us, you're wrong, dear." Answer swiped at a tear. "There are no other pyramids."

"That's why Never wondered why we weren't having more than a single child each. We should plan to have excess, so we can split off a new pyramid, sometime in the future."

The other ten women shifted uncertainly, and finally they all shifted their attention to Answer. The oldest sister nodded slowly. "That's actually a good idea. At first, with so few of us to share the child-rearing . . . But now there are plenty of us. Any of you who wish another child should start hunting. We'll be getting a goodly number of soldiers through here, what with the fort; and a new pass." Her eye fell on Justice. "Remember, that man was a bad cross. Don't do it again."

Justice blushed and nodded. "Yes, Sister."

***

"General Baring?" Mayor Accure's brow wrinkled a bit. "Isn't he the king's chief engineer?"

"Yes. The king wants this trade route open as soon as possible, so they are going to come up and start repairing the old Road from here down to the flatlands. About the time they've managed that, we'll have the pass surveyed and ready for him to start the new road." The messenger was a polite young man.

"And, I suppose he's bringing his staff, and quite a lot of workers?" Old Lady Gisele, who rarely ever noticed the
world outside her herb garden, was unaccountably interested.

"The workers will be lagging a bit behind. There will probably be six or seven officers and their curbsiders, coming in today or tomorrow. Captain Wullo and his officers and escort will ride down to meet him"

"Hmm." The mayor looked around the village, and gave a nod. "We should hold a dance in their honor."

Lady Gisele cackled. "Oh yes, since your
captain slipped through without enough notice for us to fete him properly. I'll tell the Auld Wulf to send down some of his best wine."

The grape vines looked good, growing fast in the spring sun on the north side of the canyon. No sign of mold, a bit of pruning and training needed, here and there. The Auld Wulf
, the God of War, eyed the creatures that walked up the path. He picked up a dirt clod and hefted it suggestively. "They don't need your kind of pruning." He studied the black goats thoughtfully; natural goats would have been eyeing his vines. These were studying the lay of the land, then looking back down the trail. He stepped out to looked beyond them, to where the Tyrant Wizard of Scoone was arguing with the Goddess of Health and Fertility.

". . . I don't see any reason to, and frankly,
Grandmother, I'm not sure I can change them back." The Sheep Man, they called him, here in the Valley. He'd broken the spell that had locked up his intellect fifteen years ago, but the chain spell still held his powers bound. Mostly. How much tyrant and how much wizard was left under there was impossible to say.

"They are people, not goats. How can you treat them like this?" Lady Gisele sounded exasperated. The goddess could probably pick apart the spell-webs
on the goats herself. If she wanted to. The Auld Wulf suspected that she was more concerned with the Sheep Man's conscience than the wellbeing of the goat wizards.

The Auld Wulf interrupted. "They were as corrupt as powerful men can get. They can't be safely released." He wasn't altogether sure the Sheep Man should be released either. Yet . . . while there were a few scattered “natural” wizards, these eight goats and their master were the only trained wizards left in the entire
world. The biggest one, Maleth, looked over his shoulder at the god, coldly malevolent.

The Auld Wulf wouldn't have wanted to test strength with the beast, nor magical strength with the wizard he had once been. In theory, being the God of War, the Auld Wulf could pull power from earth, wind and water. And Maleth, being a wizard, could source just from fire. But the wizards had grown up in a poisonous society full of magical assassins and back-stabbers. They probably knew more tricks of magical combat than he imagined existed.

"Come the rest of the way up and have a glass of wine, Gisele. Nil?"

The Sheep Man shook his head. "No, I need to shift the flock north. Got that?" He switched his attention to the goats. None of them would meet his eyes, and the smallest one ducked around him and trotted off to the sheep. The big one stalked after him and the rest tried to look as imposing as they walked around the man and out of sight.

Gisele sighed. "I wonder if they've learned anything from their experience as goats."

Nil had turned to follow, but cast a smirk over his shoulder. "How to eat grass."

The Auld Wulf laughed, and Gisele glared and threatened him with her cane. "It's not funny. Those wizards are a problem we're going to have to deal with eventually." She stalked up the path, letting her crone persona slip and taking up the matron's appearance. The Goddess of Health and Fertility was too angry to show her maiden aspect to him. Just as well. The God of War was as susceptible as any other man. Gisele walked out of the chill, into the front room. The tasting room he called it. Someone else had called it that . . . He sighed as the faint memory skittered away. The main problem with being a god was that he was entangled with the collective subconscious, the jointly held beliefs of everyone. He had trouble remembering things from
before.
Including not knowing before what.
Before the collective subconscious decided I was the Archetype of the Warrior. And fit me to their mold, whether I liked it or not.

He handed the goddess one of his good wine glasses.

"How long have you had these? Since before the comet fell, if I remember . . .  Surely you didn't bring them with you through the Exile?" 

He nodded sharply.
That was it. Before The Exile.
He pulled the cork of a bottle of his favorite merlot and poured.

Giselle inhaled blissfully, and drank. "I'm concerned about the magic users. The witches are outcrossing and loosing strength, the mages are the opposite."

The God of War let the wine roll over his tongue, then swallowed. "I don't know that there is anything we can do about how inbred the mages are getting. I'm not going to start breeding people, like Nil breeds his sheep. I suppose we could
encourage
. . ."

She shook her head. "No, we really can't interfere. It always goes wrong, when we do."

"Thought you were doing just that, the way the witch children have all grasped power." He poured more wine.

"Well, that's just making sure the X chromosome with the witch gene on it is selected. It's not hardly interfering. But I'm running out of options with the mages; all of the young ones are either Beck's children and Coo's grandchildren, or the other way around."

"It's easy enough to bring new genes in. I'm more worried about the witches." The God opened another bottle and poured. "There are only seventeen of them. Only the three Crescents are even thinking about getting pregnant. Three babies in two decades is a disaster."

"Ha! Look at the wizards. Only nine of them left, and eight of them have been turned into goats. Of course they deserved it." She drank and held out her glass for more.

"I still think they look more like a cross between a gazelle and a demon." The god  frowned at his empty glass. He poured out the last of the bottle and walked over to the rack for another.

"And they are getting old. The witches." Giselle held her empty glass out. "I suppose I could put a rejuvenation spell in your wine."

"Better add an aphrodisiac or it will all be for naught." He poured and set the new bottle beside the empties. "We could make a von Neumann's, self-replicating, multipurpose. Choose all the magical genes, eh?"

"And avoid duplications from inbreeding."

"If we screened for damage, repaired it, that wouldn't be such a problem."

"We still need a wider gene pool; just more babies won't do the trick." She frowned at her empty glass.

"How about making twins more likely?" He twisted the corkscrew into another bottle of his favorite year.

"A really good fertility spell would take care of that."

"How about ease of birth while we're at it? I hate long-term spells though: hard to store them."

"I think we should include a really good healing spell. Actually I've got several. We could use them all." Her wise nod was a bit wobbly.

"I'm almost drunk enough to see if it could actually be done." He filled his empty glass, and hers.

"Which is fortunately shy of being too drunk to manage it."

"Are you implying that I can't do it?" The challenge brought a gleam to his eyes. He turned and eyed the nearest oaken barrel.

"Well, making a molecular assembler to create the ribozyms of a healing spell is a large step past a simple spell to directly create them. One that can make multiple types is bound to be difficult. Especially if it has to duplicate itself at the same time." She set her wine glass down
carefully. "I'll help."

"What other spells might be useful? We should make a list."

The Goddess of Fertility swept her hand grandly through the air. "Why bother? Just throw them in there."

***

Oscar hitched at the unaccustomed weight of the sword belt slung around his hips. A real edged sword, not the practice ones Harry drilled them with. Unfortunately Oscar knew carrying it was a sop to a boy missing a party, and he wasn't expected to use it on anything more dangerous than a poison snake. "I think they were just trying to get us out of the way." Oscar was the oldest of the male cohort, a week older than Bran, one of the mage children, a year older than Question, the witch girl.

Tivo, one of his foster brothers, agreed. “It's more fun out here anyway."

"If we didn't have to have the guuuuurls along." Theo sniffed dismissively.

Oscar didn't bother arguing; appreciation of girls was something you had to grow into. "Let's get to Two Oak Hill, we can see all the way down the west valley from there."

"If they're three days back of the officers, they won't be there yet." Bran pointed out.

"I wanted to see the knights." Fossi whined.

"They aren't that sort of soldier, and even if some of them were, they wouldn't have 'sirs' in front of their names, like in the stories," Oscar told the ten-year old. "That's an old myth."

"I wanted to stay and see if I could get laid," Bran muttered under his breath. "Juli and Fava got to stay."

Oscar gulped a bit at this information. "They're both sixteen now, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Bran leaned close and whispered. “Fava has the hots for you, she told me. And Juli, she's got, you know," His hands formed two hemispheres on his chest. "Dad says it's best if I wait till I'm eighteen and already have power. That's two and a half years."

Oscar kicked the ground, trying to ignore the stirring down there. Bran was going to be a mage, so maybe it was better for him to wait. But Oscar was an orphan, with no future except what he made for himself. "It's not fair. They just want us out of the way, so the adults can get into trouble and we can't." Funny definition of trouble, but they hadn't fled from their parents' murderer, from their favorite uncle, when they were nine years old . . .

"It's not trouble if you're married. Or a witch. I think Answer is getting worried about Never, Likely and Mostly. So they want the party to get a little wild." Bran tossed a hasty glance back at Question, Opinion and Particular.

"Let's find this engineering battalion quick and then we can get back."

"What's the rush?" Question trotted up, in brown as always, and pants instead of a dress. Her bow and arrows were on one shoulder, a pack over the other.

She didn't have much in the way of hemispheres, so Oscar just sniffed. "Some of us are grown up enough to want to hear news of the happenings out in the kingdom."

"And some of us are smart enough to find a bunch of drunken adults totally uninteresting."

She had a point there. He tossed his pack over his shoulder and started hiking.

***

The Sheep Man watched the dancers from a distance, not joining them.
No, be honest. You're only watching one of them.
He was being a fool. Justice's long black hair swung through the torchlight. He forced himself to walk toward the crowd. Old friends, women he'd seen grow from babes to matrons. Handsome young soldiers everywhere. Lady Gisele caught his eye, nodded encouragement. He didn't need encouragement; he needed courage. When he looked back at the dance, she was gone. He closed his eyes in pain. Gone off with a handsome young soldier.

He opened his eyes and looked around. There—no, that flash of blue was Never, smart as a whip and toying with a stuck-up noble of an officer.

"Maaah!"

He glanced down in surprise. "Dydit, what are you doing here?"

The black goat was looking after Never and her officer, shifting its weight and dropping its head to bring its horns into a more threatening position.

"Don't even think about it," he told the goat. "She's a witch, and a virgin. Probably kill you without noticing."

"Maaah!"

"Yeah, I know, she's pretty and smart."

"Maaah!"

"All right, but don't come crying to me tomorrow when everything's back to normal." He held out the bottle he was carrying. "Drink." He muttered under his breath, fighting the chain, he just wanted a block and a little illusion for the night . . . "Hey, leave me some. Damn!" He tossed the bottle aside. "All right, in about an hour you'll revert to human and start looking just like him, and it'll last till dawn."

"Maaah!" The goat ran off, improving the local atmosphere, and the Sheep Man hastily hunted down the smell spell in his mind and wrestled it down and out, for the night.

A breath of fresh air beside him. “I was beginning to think you weren't going to come." Her eyes were dark in the torchlight, their honey warmth gone dark and mysterious. She held out a glass of wine. "Something special of the Auld Wulf's. Harry said tonight was a good time to try it. It's delicious."

It was indeed. He savored the spells steeped into the aged wine. Lady Gisele and the Auld Wulf in combination. Deadly stuff this wine. What had they been thinking?  Healing, rejuvenation, fertility and an aphrodisiac that only the God of War could have conceived of.

Damn good thing I trust them.
He swallowed, took another sip.

He reached out and stroked Justice's hair, and she leaned into him.
It's just a spell. It's wrong to influence people!
She tilted her face up and his virtuous resolutions crumpled as he bent and kissed her, slipped his arms around her. Whatever it took to get her past her reservations . . . again. He steered her toward his home, stopping occasionally for a kiss, for another sip of wine. Should have grabbed another bottle. He lived modestly, just him, all alone. He mostly lived in the meadows and hills with the sheep. He hadn't actually been inside for weeks. Just as well, it meant it was clean and fresh-smelling. Small, but all one room, so it actually looked slightly spacious. He'd imagined her here so often . . . Seven bottles of wine on the plank that served him as a kitchen.
Thank you, Lady Gisele. Grandmother. But I don't think I need
seven
.