"I am not drinking bile!"
Dawd's eyes grew rather cold and he leaned close to the prince. Surprised, Tezozуmoc quailed back into the overstuffed chair.
"Mi'lord, it's my business to keep you alive and healthy. By whatever means please your honored father. So – drink this and let the fluids do their work."
Flushed, the prince looked away and gagged down the glass. Stupid Skawt – I've gotten drunk before! This is no different than last time…though that rose-colored girl did let me taste some giddyup from her fliptop…everything got woozy after that. I wonder…
"What happened to the beautiful singer?" Wiping his mouth, Tezozуmoc tossed the glass carelessly behind the sofa. He peered at Sergeant Dawd expectantly. "Is she here? Oh…did we mate? I was wondering what she'd feel like -"
"There was no mating, mi'lord." Dawd assumed parade rest by reflex. He looked down at the prince, who sprawled bonelessly across the chair. "You were…touching her in an inappropriate way and…"
"She was very smooth!" the prince exclaimed, flushing copper. "I asked her permission first!"
"…her patron, General H umara, did not like that at all." Dawd's voice was quite cold. "No indeed. He came within a hair of splitting you open with as fine a damascene-style blade as I've ever seen."
"Fine. Fine. I'm very grateful." Tezozуmoc started to feel stymied. This always happens. I hate this. Why won't anyone answer my questions? "What happened to the rose-colored girl?"
"Humara took her away. Under local law, she is his legal possession…"
Tezozуmoc grunted and stood up – swayed unsteadily for a moment, but found his footing – and gestured violently at the Skawtsman. "Oh, shut up. Shut-shut-shut up! Do you know where she is? Was she hurt?"
Dawd shook his head. "We moved you to safety as quickly as possible."
"Listen to me, Sergeant." The prince rubbed a fine-boned brown hand across one cheek. Pain stabbed behind his eyelids at the touch. Oh, I have done myself an injury this time. What was in those red crystals? Gasoline? What if they like to drop shots of petroleum distillate here? "There are very few things in this world I find enjoyable. That girl…"
Tezozуmoc stopped and closed his mouth with a snap. He felt truly terrible, worse than he had in at least two weeks. Despite the stabbing pressure threatening to burst through his eyelids and spill blood down his cheeks, the prince could see enough of the sergeant's face to realize the man was only barely disguising open contempt. A groping hand found the back of the nearest chair. The feel of solid wood under his fingertips kept him from pitching over.
"Did you hear her singing, Sergeant? Did you listen to her at all?"
Sergeant Dawd shook his head minutely. "Mi'lord, I was…"
"Be quiet." Exhausted, Tezozуmoc's anger flared, the stabbing reflection of sunlight from a drawn blade. "I am speaking. If you cannot listen, then you are discharged from my service. Did I choose you to watch over me? No – so you may go at any time. You were forced upon me, just as Colmuir was." The prince's thin face twisted in anguish and his right hand scratched angrily at the side of his neck. "Two Eagle Knights set to guard a Prince Imperial – yet I am Otomitl – an officer! Where are my captives? Where are the men I've defeated in battle? There are none!"
Dawd stepped back, gray-green eyes narrowing in puzzlement.
"You barely even comprehend what I say." Tezozуmoc looked sick again, but the hangover was losing its hold. "My father and my brothers don't even bother to speak to me – why should they? My mantle of red and white feathers is ash and glue and paint, my victories – not one plume is mine. Not one. Only my father's name shields me from disgrace – his will, and men like you, who watch over me and keep me from harm."
Tezozуmoc abruptly wrenched the chair from the floor and hurled it into the nearest wall. Hardwood shattered, sending splinters clattering from the light fixtures. Dawd braced himself, but did not move.
"I am a Mйxica!" The prince's voice was bitter and furious. "The blood of conquerors is in me – every nation bows down before my father – our enemies know only ruin and exile or lie dead, their nations wastelands under the Blow. My brothers…" Tezozуmoc gasped for breath, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. "They are strong – those Blades Undimmed – what am I? Only a broken mirror, distorted, filled with shadows. A blunted edge."
Dawd, alarmed, thumbed his comm, sounding a warning on the circuit he and Colmuir shared.
"The eagle screams," Tezozуmoc said, his voice starting slow, chanting.
"Jaguars howl, and you – O Prince – you are
Macuilmailnalli.
Here, in a region of smoke, in the land of red color,
bravely the Mйxica are fighting."
The prince stopped, body drained by the outburst. His hands were trembling.
"I am intoxicated – I, Tezozуmoc.
I of the flowery, shaven hair.
Again and again, I drink the flowering liquor.
Let them pass me precious flowery nectar.
Oh, my brother, you are young and strong.
I grow pale. Where is my strong hand? My blade of flint?
Gone – rabbits have taken them – stolen my strong heart.
Nothing is left."
Dawd heard the door behind him open and raised a warning hand. The prince's voice was growing, filling the room, even as his thin body seemed to shrink in upon itself. There was a faint metallic click as Colmuir eased his Nambu back into the gunrig.
"Within the waters, they are singing.
The divine flowers are calling – they are intoxicated, they are shouting
The princes who are precious birds, the mighty Cuextecas.
Begin the dance!
To his house go those with spoiled flowers,
Those with plumed shields,
Those who guarded the heights,
Those who took prisoners alive,
Now they are dancing,
Vomiting blood as they go,
The spoiled flowers, those of the flowery shields.
My divine brothers."
Tezozуmoc stared gravely at the two Skawtsmen, dark eyes enormous in a pale, wasted face. "Am I so bright with glory? No – I am sitting in a dark house, fumes in my nostrils. You are warriors – far better men than I – you had to earn the arrow, the jade, the feathered shield." A thin finger stabbed at the matte black mon on Colmuir's stiff collar. "You deserve what you have been given."
The prince fell silent, clutching his head. Dawd risked a brief glance at Colmuir, who was looking curiously at him in turn. The younger Skawtsman licked his lips, looked around at the mess, and mustered up enough breath to speak.
"Mi'lord? I'm only a clanless man from Glasgow, but by the blood, you've a ringing voice and a piercing way with the ancient words. Of all men, I know how fiercely the Mйxica venerate the poet, the singer, even above warriors, even above kings. Does your father know -"
"I only recite," Tezozуmoc interrupted, anger flickering awake. "Nezahualpilli, son of fabled Nezahualcoyotl, raised his voice with those words nearly a thousand years ago. A trained monkey could do so well."
He stumbled to the nearest couch and threw himself down, utterly drained. His voice was a faint thready whisper. "Somehow, all the divine spirit which fills my father and shines in my brothers was gone by the time I came into this cursed world. Was my mother exhausted? Am I only half formed?" He raised his head, fixing Dawd with a glittering stare. "If I am truly an officer, where are my men? Where is my command?"