"Glad to have been of service," Ziani grunted.
"You aren't now," Daurenja replied pleasantly, "but you will be, when the time comes. And that's another thing. I'm more or less certain that your wonderful grand design really will work; it'll all come out the way you want it to, you'll get to be the conqueror of Mezentia, you'll ride in triumph through the shattered gates and set up your throne room in the Guildhall, as the Cure Hardy's trusted governor and commander of the army of occupation. At which point," Daurenja went on cheerfully, "there'll be a vacancy for the job of chief military engineer to the Aram Chantat empire, and no prizes for guessing who'll take over. As soon as you get what you want, I'll get what I want; what I deserve. Then, with the resources of the new empire to back me up, and no more infuriating rules and restrictions to interfere with how I choose to live my life, I'll finally be able to fulfill my true potential. Thanks to you."
Ziani glanced away. He found Daurenja uncomfortable to look at; like a reflection in a curved sheet of polished steel, a distorting mirror.
"Now you're thinking," Daurenja went on, "that I must be a prize idiot, letting you know how much I've figured out about you. You're thinking, I can't allow this fool to live, I've got to get him out of the way as soon as possible. Knowing you, I expect you've already thought of a way; several ways, and all of them mechanically perfect. But you won't do it, and you know why? Because you need me. Honestly, you do; and why? Because there's another great big hole in your schematic, and this one's marked Find a way of breaking through the defenses of Mezentia. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you haven't really given it any thought. You know that the Aram Chantat don't know spit about siege warfare; the Vadani aren't much better. You know the city's got the highest, thickest walls in the world, laid out so as to give the artillery on the walls the optimum fields of fire. You know that unless you come up with a stunning innovation, the Mezentines will slaughter the Aram Chantat in much the same way as you slaughtered the Mezentines at Civitas Eremiae. Well," Daurenja said, and the smugness in his voice was as thick and waxy as goose dripping, "I can fill that hole for you, if you'll help me build my explosive-powder machine; my life's work, the one thing I want more than anything else. Plain and simple: we need each other so much. We're like the ideal married couple; so much in common, and such differences as we have make us complement each other perfectly. My strengths balance out your weaknesses, and vice versa. We depend on each other absolutely, like the two parts of a dovetail joint. Or," he added with a smile, "like lovers. Or like lovers should be, but so rarely are, in my wide and varied experience. But then, it's always love that drives us, isn't it? Men like you and me." He sighed, like a man waking up out of a beautiful dream. "One of the things I value most in our relationship is the affinity of minds. I think you're probably the only man I've ever met who's got the intelligence and the depth of character to understand me. As we get closer, I think you will come to understand me, eventually. I hope you'll make the effort; you'll find it worth your while if you do. Isn't it perfect? I can give you what you want, you can give me what I want, and the same operation will fulfill both our desires. Just like lovers, really. How are you feeling, by the way? Not in any pain, I trust."
"I think you've broken one of my ribs."
"I doubt it," Daurenja replied. "I think you'll find I know my own strength to within a pretty tight margin of error. I studied anatomy in Lonazep, you know. A good working knowledge of anatomy is very useful if you're going to have to beat people up now and again. After all, the human body's just a machine. If you're going to use it-yours or someone else's-it helps if you know how it works, and what kind of stresses and strains it'll take." He paused, as if considering what he'd just said. "Actually," he went on, "that wasn't meant as a threat, but since it makes quite a good one, feel free to interpret it as such. Of course, going whining to Valens won't do you any good. The most he'll do is lecture us on playing rough games and tell us to make friends and be nice to each other. And I know so much about you that Valens doesn't need to hear. I really do need your help, to build the tube for turning my explosive powder into a weapon; but if the worst comes to the worst and you make more trouble than you're worth to me and I have to sacrifice you for the good of the project, I suppose I'll have to muddle through on my own. Or maybe we can capture another red-hot Mezentine engineer, and I can persuade him to help me. You see, I've got options; you-well, let's not dwell on it. I'd far, far rather work with you. I like you; and that counts for a lot in any partnership. I never liked Framain; not my sort of person." Suddenly he laughed. "This is a bit of fun though, isn't it? You've come all this way, achieved so much, fitted so many other people into your design; and now you're the key component in mine. Isn't it a relief, when all's said and done, to know that now, at last, you're finally not alone anymore?"
They woke him up in the middle of the night and bundled him politely into a carriage; not the shiny silver one, just a plain old wooden thing with a hide canopy and a bench seat. The windows were covered, and he'd lost track of time completely. It came as a surprise, therefore, when the coach stopped and they opened the door and it was daylight outside.
He was back at the frontier post. He was unsteady on his feet as he scrambled down out of the coach. The Vadani, what was left of them, were sprawled across an open plain, littered untidily, like things spilled out of a box. Beautiful white tents were scattered about; people were sitting outside them, cooking over fires from which thin white smoke rose straight up into the still air. Heads turned to stare at him, but nobody moved at first. An Aram Chantat soldier nodded toward a tent.
"Mine?" Valens asked stupidly. The soldier turned and walked back to the coach, which rattled away as soon as he was inside.
In the tent was a plain camp bed, with a frame of willow branches mortised and dowelled together, and split withes stretched across it for suspension. It was comfortable, almost luxurious. He lay down and closed his eyes. In the disputed territory between awake and asleep, he heard her voice, and opened his eyes.
For once, she was actually there.
"You've come back, then. We were worried."
He thought for a moment; then replied: "I think I just met their king. My father-in-law. Actually, he's something like my great-grandfather-in-law, not that it matters. All his family predeceased him, which just goes to show, if you live long enough, eventually you get lucky. Do you happen to know where Ziani Vaatzes is? I need to talk to him."
She shook her head. "Are you all right?"
"Depends." He made an effort and sat up. "For savages, they're pretty damned sophisticated. It takes us about a million dead geese to make a bed this comfortable."
"They fold away, too," she said. "I imagine everything here's got to be portable and collapsible."
He yawned. "I had a long talk with their head man," he said. "Apparently they're going to wipe the Mezentines off the face of the earth for me. I said not to bother on my account, but they reckoned it was no trouble." He tried to stand up, but his knees weren't prepared to take responsibility for his weight. "To be honest, I haven't got the faintest idea what's going to happen next, or how we fit in, or how much of it's going to be my fault. I just wish I'd died out there in the desert."