“The attack,” I said.
“Must not each god have a side,” he asked, “a favored outcome?”
Surely, I thought, the foes of Lord Nishida and Lord Okimoto will have their resources and allies, as well.
A wager?
Perhaps.
Yet, too, surely each party would have darker, more remote thoughts in mind.
“I see now,” I said, “why your plans were to be advanced.”
“Of course,” said Lord Nishida.
“But the other side has already won,” I said.
“How so?” asked Lord Nishida, interested.
“You intended to winter here, until spring, did you not?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are trapped,” I said.
“How so?” he inquired.
“Your project is no longer secret,” I said. “One attack was beaten away, but there will be, I gather, others, in greater force, most likely, I would suppose, on foot through the forests, muchly inaccessible to tarn attack, and you will be unable to escape.”
“I have not been quite candid with you, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Lord Nishida.
“This revelation does not take me by surprise,” I said.
“Such a force,” said Lord Nishida, “is already on the march.”
“You are undone,” I said.
“How so?” he asked.
“You will be trapped in your winter camp, the river will freeze.”
“When the enemy arrives,” said Lord Nishida, “he will find only ashes.”
“Abandon the camp and ships,” I said, “and flee, saving what you can, in a thousand directions.”
“No,” he said.
“You cannot stay here,” I said.
“That is true,” he said.
“Flee,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“What will you do?” I asked.
“Soon,” said Lord Nishida, “the ship will sail.”
“The time of year is wrong,” I said.
“Soon,” said Lord Nishida.
“You cannot be intending to descend the Alexandra,” I said.
“To Thassa,” said he.
“Winter is coming,” I said.
“That is why we must not loiter,” said Lord Nishida. “Any day ice may form in the river. Already, upstream, in tributaries, some hundred pasangs north, plate ice has been detected.”
This discovery would have been made by tarn scouts.
“You cannot be serious about taking the ship to sea,” I said.
“We have no choice,” said Lord Nishida.
“The ship cannot sail,” I said.
“Tersites believes it can withstand the winter sea,” he said.
“Tersites is not a captain, not a mariner, he is a shipwright, and he is mad,” I said.
“I do not doubt his madness,” said Lord Nishida, “but, too, I do not doubt his genius. It is his ship, and his design.”
“Beware of Thassa,” I said. “She is not your ally, not your friend.”
“We cannot remain here,” said Lord Nishida.
“Winter looms,” I warned.
“Ice has already been seen in the north,” he said.
“Thassa,” I said, “will tear the sails from your ship, snap her masts, break her keel, crush her sides, lift her a hundred feet, two hundred feet, into the air, and then drop her like a broken toy, plunging to the waves below. One does not go upon Thassa in the winter. It is madness.”
“Soon,” he said, “she will sail.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“She is a slave,” I told Pertinax. “Put her to your pleasure.”
“No,” said Pertinax.
Saru knelt before us, in the half light of the shed we had been assigned for our quarters.
“Spread your knees more widely, girl,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“More,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Use her,” I told Pertinax.
“No,” he said.
“It is all right with Lord Nishida,” I assured him.
“No,” he said.
“Speak,” I said to the slave.
“The slave,” she whispered, “is eager to serve master.”
How different she was from when on Earth, in her tailored garments, heels, silk stockings and such.
“No,” said Pertinax.
“Consider the collar on her neck,” I said to Pertinax. “It is lovely, is it not?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And it is locked,” I said.
“Of course,” he said.
“Consider her in the rep-cloth tunic,” I said. “It is a slave garment. It conceals little. Surely you find her attractive.”
“Of course,” he said, angrily.
“The hair is still too short,” I said. “But some women are sold with less.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“Surely that does not give you pause,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Use her,” I urged.
Angrily Pertinax turned about and left the shed, the door closing more fiercely behind him than I thought necessary.
I smiled.
“He does not want me, Master,” she whispered.
“On the contrary,” I said, “he wants you mightily, with the ferocity of Gorean desire, wants you crushed, subdued, helpless, begging, at his feet.”
“That cannot be, Master,” she said.
“He wants you in a way that he dares not admit to himself,” I said, “wants you in a way that he feels he must not permit himself to want you, wants you that much, wants you wholly, without a particle of reservation or hesitation.”
