Amazonia

  Ishi excused herself, telling them the head priestess of Ix-Chel’s temple wanted to speak with her, and as they waited for the innkeeper to bring their wine, Prince Timur invited Amazonia to sit beside him at the table. He told Argat to dispose of Jebe’s body, and Troll jumped to his feet. “Prince Timur, with respect, Domina always lets me get rid of the bodies of her enemies.”

  “Troll,” Amazonia said in a voice sharp as a blade, “they may have customs we aren’t aware of.”

  “There are,” Prince Timur said before Amazonia could go on, “but Jebe doesn’t deserve them. When a man dies with honor, we return him to Tengri, Lord of the Sky, by laying out his body in a high place and letting the winged ones devour his flesh. When they are finished, the winged ones return to Tengri and the man’s spirit travels with them.” He scowled down at the body. “Let this man of yours called Troll throw Jebe’s body onto the midden heap behind the inn, so the rats and unclean animals can strip him of flesh while his spirit watches and haunts the streets of Bukhara thereafter.”

  Parnax is going to love that. “Troll, do as the prince says, then wake up my squire so he can meet Prince Timur as well.”

  “And no nibbling,” Dancer added.

  “Yes, Domina.” Troll bent down, grabbed the corpse, and slung it over his shoulder before standing back up. He grinned at Dancer, and as he walked toward the doorway, glanced at Greywolf. “Shame it’s not your body I’m throwing on the trash heap.”

  “I can make it two bodies,” Greywolf snarled back.

  Then yelped as Asena cuffed the side of his head. “That’s enough out of you.”

  Troll gave him an evil chuckle and walked out, bells chiming on the bead curtain as Greywolf rubbed the side of his face. “But Asena—”

  “Enough,” Asena snarled, grabbing her son by the front of his tunic. “Tonight, I’m going to get blind, stinking drunk with one of the last friends I’ve got, and tell war stories while you sit beside me. Tomorrow, we’re going to shake the dust of this place off our boots, ask the khan’s permission to go troll hunting, and never return.” Asena pulled Greywolf towards her until their faces were only a hands-width apart. “Do you understand?”

  Greywolf screwed up his face, turning it away as he closed one eye. “Yes.” Asena started to growl and he snapped, “Shite, what do you want from me? Yes, I understand.” Asena held him a moment longer before flinging him away and he stumbled before recovering his balance.

  As Titan’s partner, Amazonia had learned to read the Ogri’s moods, and caught the flash of anger at Asena sweeping over his face before he schooled it back into a calm mask. “Greywolf,” Titan said in a mild voice, “if it is any consolation, when Troll was a gladiator named Cotus, he would have laughed if Amazonia had given him an order, let alone call her Domina. Now, he has no choice and so vents his frustration on the person who thwarted him from killing Eurax.”

  Titan’s words didn’t seem to bring Greywolf any consolation at all, judging by the surly look on his face, while Prince Timur’s expression had grown thoughtful. “The elders tell tales of Reaver Knights and their Chaldean Wardogs,” he said, the prince’s scarred hand stroking his beard, “yet say little about the Chaldeans beyond their loyalty to the knight. Friend Karl, would you mind sharing your table with them so we might learn more to tell when we are elders ourselves?”

  “I would be honored,” Karl replied, still holding Princess as he moved to the end of the table where the shadows were deep and thick as the Wardogs got to their feet.

  “Great prince,” Dancer said as he and the other three walked to the table and sat, “I have no such frustration with doing Domina’s will, and neither do the Nomads.” Both sat together and nodded as Dancer motioned towards the Daemo who sat down beside him. “Fox’s heart I don’t know as she’s Daemo, yet I feel certain she bears Domina no ill will either.”

  Argat’s face had grown thoughtful as well, but the squat Bloodguard next to him scowled. “No one could ever know a Daemo’s heart,” he growled. “Daemo lie easier than they breathe.”

  “Bogen,” Prince Timur said in a mild voice, “you are being rude.”

  “Apologies for my ill manners, my prince,” Bogen said with a sitting bow, “yet I stand by what I speak.”

  “Permission, Domina?” Az looked at Prince Timur, who nodded, and motioned for Fox to go ahead. “Gratitude. Bogen,” Fox said, her eyes meeting the warrior’s dark ones, “ordinary Daemo lie to gain advantage but prefer to tell the truth so they won’t be caught out later in that lie. However, I am no longer an ordinary Daemo.”

  Bogen said in a skeptical voice, “Are you going to tell us you never lie?”

  “Of course not. If Domina needed me to lie to you, I’d do so without a moment’s hesitation.”

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  “What about your Domina,” Argat asked, his face reflecting curiosity. “Would you ever lie to her?”

  Fox shook her head. “The fox spirit tattooed upon my back will not permit it. Domina, may I show Argat my fox tattoo so he might understand us better?”

  This had been part of the plan as well. “I’ve got no problem with that. My prince?”

  “I admit to being curious myself. Argat, run your fingers over her tattoo and tell me what you feel.”

  Dancer helped Fox with the buckles on her torso armor as Argat got to his feet and stepped around the table, Fox rising to her feet as well. “Could you help me get this off?”

  “Of course.” Argat pulled the torso armor off her and set it beside the table as Fox pulled her stained arming tunic over her head and unwound the cloth protecting her small breasts from chafing. The eyes of every male in the room were on Fox as she turned around for Argat’s inspection. The crimson colored tattoo took up much of her back, and as Argat ran his fingertips along the lines, she shuddered in pleasure. Argat seemed too intent on the tattoo to notice. “My prince, these lines have somehow been embedded into her skin. They’re also warm,” his fingertip moving from the red lines to unmarked skin, “while the rest of her flesh is cool.”

  Fox’s breath was coming faster. “Argat, I don’t know your customs so crave pardon if I’m being forward, but would you let me be carnal with you tonight?”

  The man’s shocked expression was so comical that Amazonia grinned while Prince Timur barked out a laugh. “Argat, if your mouth opens any wider I’m going to buy a goat and drive it down your gullet.”

  Argat shut his mouth. “Apologies, my prince, but is that… permitted?”

  “It will do him no harm,” Amazonia replied to Prince Timur’s raised eyebrows, “other than a small amount of blood he won’t miss, and the lost sleep which he doubtless will.”

  “I can sleep when I’m dead,” Argat replied to more laughter as Fox slipped her stained tunic back on without rewinding the cloth band. She rolled the cloth into a ball and tossed it to a grinning Dancer as Argat asked, “But I’d like to know why you’re choosing me and not someone else, like the prince.”

  “Short answer is that the fox spirit likes you and so do I. Long answer is that first, Prince Timur is so far above my station in life that I’d risk violating one of your customs if I asked him, and second, Bogen doesn’t like me.”

  “I never said I didn’t like you,” Bogen said, “only that Daemo… ordinary Daemo, that is, lie.”

  “Then if Argat ever gets tired of me, he can pass me on, if he wants.”

  Before anyone could reply, bells on the bead curtain chimed, and Parnax, along with several servants, brought in pitchers of wine and ceramic cups, with tankards for Titan and Asena, and plates with nuts and dried fruit. At the prince’s suggestion, Argat joined the Wardogs at their table as the servants took care of their guests under Parnax’s watchful eye.

  Bells jangled and Troll walked in a moment later. “Looks like I got here just in time.”

  Amazonia called out, “Where’s my squire?”

  “He’s coming, Domina,” Troll replied as he made a beeline for the Wardog’s table. “Had to use the chamberpot first.”

  “What of Jebe,” Prince Timur asked. “Did you lay his corpse on the bier of the midden heap?”

  Troll stopped next to Dancer, the smile gone from his face. Is that a touch of fear I see in his eyes? “I did as you wanted, Prince Timur, and when I looked back, the rats were already sniffing around him.” Troll hesitated. “There was also a man’s shadow that shouldn’t have been there, watching me.”

  Bogen asked, “Was it Jebe’s ghost?”

  “I didn’t stay to find out,” Troll replied, trying to suppress a shudder.

  “You’ve done me a service tonight,” Prince Timur said, raising his wine cup. “I shall not forget it.”

  Troll ducked his head, the closest he ever got to a bow, and sat next to Dancer, who poured him wine as Little Paulus, wearing a rumpled tunic and trousers, padded barefoot into the room. Amazonia called him over. “Prince Timur, this is my squire, Paulus, son of the foolish man who died in the arena.”

  As Paulus bowed in the manner of the Eastern Empire court, dropping to one knee as he bowed, Prince Timur stroked his beard. “I find it interesting that the emperor allowed the son of a traitor to live.”

  “My prince, it’s stranger than that” Amazonia said as Little Paulus sat on the cushion beside her. “As part of my banishment, I was commanded to watch over him until he reaches sixteen, and have been promised a stipend of gold for his maintenance.” Prince Timur raised his bushy eyebrows, and Amazonia nodded. “I do know that an evil man named Eurax, who married Lord Paulus’ widow to gain the title of ‘lord’, wanted the Daemo to craft the boy’s body into a female’s, so he could use Paulus as a bed-slave. I don’t know, but I’m guessing the emperor found out about this as well, and saw this as the only way to protect Paulus from Eurax’s perversions.”

  “From what I’ve heard of this Emperor Konstan,” Prince Timur said, stroking his beard, “he’s an honorable man so that makes sense. But how did you find this out in the first place?”

  “Eurax told us himself.” Amazonia then told him the version of the encounter she and Titan had worked on during the journey to Bukhara, leaving out his misguided belief in Greywolf’s being a demigod and replacing it with his temporarily falling in love with Lady Alexina.

  To her relief, Prince Timur seemed to accept her version of the tale. “Daemo butterflies are known to us, though if this Eurax hates Daemo as much as you say, he will likely try to murder her when the venom wears off.” Then he glanced at the table where Asena was talking to Titan in between gulps of wine, and lowered his voice. “What I find hard to believe is that an Oldenblood would allow her son to become a sword dancer.”

  Amazonia gave him a puzzled look. “Why would that make any difference?”

  “Because they’ll fuck anyone for money,” Bogen replied.

  Argat, who’d been listening with the Wardogs, laughed. “That never stopped you in the past.”

  “She was worth every silver piece she charged me,” Bogen said, returning Argat a sour smile. “Even if she did leave me with a rash the Wise Woman’s apprentice had to help me clear up.”

  Everyone around the table laughed except Fox, who flashed Amazonia a worried look before smiling at Argat again. Prince Timur finished off the wine in his cup and poured himself more. “According to our legends, when Lady Sword-son successfully crushed the corrupt dynasty and became empress of Xian, she purged the empire of all Daemo influences. So, the dancing mistresses relocated elsewhere.” He took a sip of wine. “Sword dancers are beautiful to watch, but they have no honor and cannot be trusted. If he can train your Daemo Shadow-walker to open a gate into the Shadowlands large enough for a raiding party to use, I will pay his mother the gold she desires, so long as we don’t have to rely on his help anymore.”