“Perhaps,” Zeus admitted, “but mine is a professional interest. As a sampler of women, I’d like a taste of the fair Maggot. She does have a nice face.”
“Hah,” Herm laughed. “She has a face? I hadn’t noticed. But those legs-I did not know the gods could make them so long. Do you think she has red hair all over?”
“Aye, she’s a fine-looking woman,” Zeus conceded.
Herm was eyeing Zeus’s crotch. To his consternation, Zeus realized that the memory of Maggie-or perhaps Herm’s description-was more arousing than he’d thought it would be.
Herm laughed, “So, the little wrinkled fellow has some life in him after all. And here I feared it had died.”
“Not dead. It was merely resting. After last night, it deserved a good rest,” Zeus groused.
“So you do want Maggie?” Herm asked. “I knew you would. Dangerous quarry, that one.”
“No more dangerous than your skogs,” Zeus said, and he saw from the veiled look in Herm’s eyes that the winged man really hadn’t been interested in Maggie. Indeed, Herm had only discussed the matter so he could arouse Zeus, forcing him to embarrass himself.
Herm had a devious mind, the trickster. Perhaps that is why Zeus liked him so much. Herm was better at the Great and Dreadful Game than Zeus. Herm resorted to craftiness when he wanted something, while Zeus tended to charge recklessly toward his goals, landing in more trouble than he’d like.
“Perhaps she is no more dangerous than my skogs, or perhaps she is. If you bed her, Gallen will kill you.”
“If he finds out. Besides, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it, to die between her legs?”
“You plan to bed her then?” Herm said.
Something in the tone of Herm’s voice hinted at more than minor curiosity. It hinted at a proposal in the shaping, an offer to play the Game. “I’ll poke her with my spear before you poke another skog with yours, oh mighty raptor.”
Herm lifted his arm, looked at the bandage. The tan strip of tunic had soaked through with blood, and the wound was deep. It would be weeks in healing. “I’ll be hunting skogs again before you know it, perfecting my technique.”
“Technique? What part do you want to perfect, the part where you crash into trees, or the part where you defend yourself by throwing your arm into a skog’s mouth?”
“Both.” Herm laughed.
Just then, a service droid roiled up the entrance ramp to the top of the citadel and swerved toward them. “Zeus!” it called. “Your father requests your presence. He and Gallen are going on a minor expedition into the tangle, and would like you to accompany them.”
Herm’s green eyes flickered with interest. “Will Maggie be coming?”
“No,” the droid answered.
“How long will they be away?” Herm asked.
“Three days,” the droid said, rolling toward them.
“Ah, the poor woman,” Herm whispered under his breath low enough so the droid’s sensors wouldn’t hear.
“Who shall warm her bed while Gallen is gone.”
“The Game is on?” Zeus mouthed.
“Three days, only,” Herm whispered. “Three points if you bed the Lord Protector’s wife-” he hesitated, then considered, “so long as you get her willingly.”
Three points. At the moment, Herm was ahead in The Game by two points. If Zeus could bed Maggie willingly, he’d take the lead, and as a reward, he’d get to hold the bottle that held the Wind of Dreams. “How many points if I take her by force?” Zeus hissed.
The whole purpose of The Game was to entertain. Zeus would prefer to seduce the woman, thus getting the full value from the bet. But if he raped Maggie, he would have to suffer the consequences-death at Gallen’s hands, perhaps; the entertainment value of that spectacle ought to be worth something to Herm.
“One point,” Heim whispered.
Zeus smiled. Not enough to take the lead in The Game. Still, it was a free point, no matter what the outcome of his seduction attempt. Zeus whirled as the droid rolled near.
“Tell Father I won’t go with him. I’m staying home.”
“I do not believe that he requested your, presence. I perceived it as an order, though I may be mistaken in this,” the droid apologized.
“Tell Father I am not his slave anymore,” Zeus bellowed. “I don’t take orders!” He turned his back. The droid simply stood, perplexed. “Wait,” Zeus said. “I know a better way to get the message to him. Come here.”
Zeus walked to the edge of the citadel, till he stood in the crenel, looking down hundreds of meters. The droid rolled to him; Zeus grabbed its metal frame and shoved it over the edge. The droid flipped end over end, bouncing against stone as it dropped; bits of its golden frame broke off. The droid crashed heavily into the canopy of the tangle. Woodland creatures hooted and squawked.
Zeus stared after it. Each droid had an emergency transmitter to notify the palace’s central Al if the droid became incapacitated. The droid would have sent a message telling how it was destroyed. The Al would notify Felph.
Zeus imagined the look on Felph’s face when he learned how he had refused to go on this expedition. If I’d merely said “no,” he thought, Father would have forced the issue.
By destroying the droid, I’ve sent the message forcefully. Felph would be afraid to bring him on the expedition. Better to leave Zeus home. With Maggie.
Herm stood on the lip of the citadel, laughed, and said, “One point if you bed her in three days. Two more if you get her willingly!”
From inside his tunic, he brought out a small vial of blue. glass, held it outward and up, in ritual. He remained very quiet, almost respectful, as he pulled the stopper. The Wind of Dreams.
The scent that issued from the tiny bottle was over whelming. It filled the air, sweet as gardenias, gentle.
Yet immediately, the heady scent took effect: the wine was a concoction made by Hera’s perfumery, a very sophisticated machine. By combining a devil’s brew of proteins that stimulated one’s emotions, then putting it into a scent, the perfumery was able to concoct a most intoxicating brew. The Wind of Dreams made one feel effulgent, euphoric, invulnerable.
It made Zeus feel the way that he imagined he would feel at some distant time, when he took his rightful place as Lord of the Universe. Zeus inhaled deeply. The scent had a singular, unusual effect on him. It made his organ hard. He stared at it through veiled eyes. Ah how he craved this little bottle. As one who has lived his life in servitude, as one born to crave power, yet who had always been denied the most basic rights, Zeus craved it more than he could speak. The scent brought water to his eyes.
Herm held up the Wind of Dreams. As the current high scorer in the Great and Dreadful Game, it was Herm’s right to keep the bottle. Herm chanted, “Through darkest deeds this prize is won by murder, theft, and dreams undone. “
Zeus intoned his portion of the chant. “If l succeed, I’ll hold the Wind: Let the Great and Dreadful Game begin!”
A cold gust blew over the tower, filling the air with the bottle’s marvelous scent. For once Zeus felt that the draft refreshed rather than chilled him.
Hem put the stopper back on the bottle. He broke into a deep, booming laugh.
Chapter 12
“You feel all right about this?” Gallen asked Maggie that morning. “You don’t mind if I leave for a couple days?”
Maggie lay in bed beside him, her dark red hair in her eyes. She shook her head. “Just get your cloning done before you leave.”
Gallen studied her face. Maggie looked pale, though her morning sickness had passed. He did not want to broach this topic, but he had to. “I’m not going for Felph, you know.”
“I know. You want to beat the dronon. So you’re hunting for a magic potion? I have to tell you, Gallen, I wouldn’t hope for too much. I don’t understand how such a potion could do what Felph claims.”
“Why not? We have that vial of Hope we got … where? I don’t even remember the name of the world.”