She ran after him. “No, I don't see. Are you sure you can't kill Zath without using mana?"
"Absolutely certain."
"Then you could take the god of death office yourself, to make sure it isn't abused."
"Faugh! No. Don't worry about it. It won't happen. I'd rather stop a German bullet any day. What else do you want to know, apart from that?"
"What happened to Golbfish?"
Edward sighed. “Ah, that's quite a story. If it wasn't for Golbfish I wouldn't be here. First thing, of course, when we'd barely left the temple, was that a couple of heralds appeared, demanding that he return to the palace."
"And?"
Edward grinned, looking suddenly very juvenile. “I told them that Golbfish Warrior was now under my command and I refused to release him. I had a hundred spearsmen with me, so the argument was brief."
Alice glanced at her watch. They still had an hour before train time.
"Of course,” he said, “I realized that I had blundered into a major political crisis. We'd hardly got back to camp before I was summoned to appear before Kammaeman Battlemaster, the Joalian general. I was told to bring my new recruit with me, but I didn't. I went alone and explained that the prince couldn't come—he was too busy digging latrine ditches. After that, they sort of lost interest in us."
"Never mind your confounded modesty! What did you really do?"
"Nothing much,” Edward said blandly.
21
"TWO FRIENDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE,” SAID DOSH HOUSEBOY, kneading Tarion's calf, “especially if they are enemies."
"Sounds like one of my dear brother's aphorisms. It's enough to send a whole dining room of sycophants into hysterics."
"It's from the Green Scriptures, Canto 1576.” Dosh turned his attention to the other leg.
Tarion was stretched out naked on an auroch hide. The tent was dim and hot. It smelled of leather, his own sweat, and the fragrant oil Dosh was using. After hours of standing in the temple, a massage felt very good. Massages from Dosh always did—he had skill and his hands were much more powerful than they looked. All the thousands of other people who had endured that ceremony would perhaps appreciate similar treatment, but none of them would be getting it.
"What two friends do you have in mind?” he asked sleepily.
Dosh chuckled throatily. “You and Golbfish."
"The Joalians can still play us off against each other, of course."
"Of course. And the fat man did not die ... which may have been the plan, possibly?"
Tarion chuckled. “Do my thighs now.” He sighed sensuously as those powerful fingers began to work on the muscle.
"So you will have to behave yourself, or they can bring him back,” Dosh said, phrasing the words in time with his thrusts. “They do not trust my beloved master.” He was as nosy as an old woman.
After a while Tarion roused himself to answer. “Mother cannot last much longer. Then the Joalians will have to decide which of us to put on the throne. I think we shall have just time to slaughter a few Lemodians before then. Before the terrible news arrives."
It would be better for Tarion himself if the time was insufficient for the Lemodian's Thargian allies to arrive on the scene—Thargians were dangerous—but that was in the lap of the gods. “It seems most unlikely that my dear brother will survive more than an hour or two of infantry training. He has the muscle tone of a milk pudding. His comrades will laugh him to death. There must be a limit to the amount of humiliation even that man can absorb. Besides ... Do you want to hear a little secret, dear boy?"
"You know I love secrets."
"Then work harder. Harder! I won't break. Ah! Lovely! My whimsical brother took refuge in the Nagian infantry. You know what the Joalians think of the Nagian infantry?"
"They think it a useless rabble,” Dosh said, panting with effort as he pummeled.
"Exactly! Our cavalry—my cavalry I mean ... They will allow us to play some minor part. Nothing too critical, I am sure. I hope showy. But the infantry is a mob. A peasant's idea of fighting is to throw his spear at his opponent's shield and then charge him with a club. Even Lemodians can massacre Nagians. They always have in the past. Start on my back now. Kammaeman will hurl the Nagians in first to use up the Lemodians’ arrows. That's what they're for. Dear Golbfish's chances of surviving his first battle may charitably be defined as, ‘remote.’”
He grunted as Dosh's strong hands pressed down on his torso. He had allowed none of his subordinates to bring personal body servants along to the war, and only the very senior Joalians had them. As leader of the cavalry, though, he needed someone to attend to his mount, his weapons, and equipment. And his more personal needs. Dosh was a real joy, in every way.
"The Joalians do not trust you, master,” Dosh repeated.
"I am heartbroken,” Tarion said drowsily. “I wonder why not?"
"Because two friends are better than one, especially when they are enemies."
Tarion spun over on his back, grabbed a handful of Dosh's hair, and hauled him down. Dosh squealed in surprise and ended leaning on one elbow, nose to nose with his prince and frantically trying not to spill the oil bottle in his other hand.
"What are you implying?” Tarion said menacingly.
He saw none of the fear he had hoped to provoke, only amusement.
"Oh, beloved!” Dosh said in a fake whine of humility. “Who am I to lecture my master on political affairs?"
"Did I ever tell you you had beautiful eyes?"
"I don't think so. You've praised just about every other part of me excessively, but I don't recall you mentioning eyes."
"I do so now only to stress that I should hate to have them put out with red-hot irons. That would spoil your perfection. What were you saying?"
Dosh still showed no alarm. He smiled, as if this bullying were a form of foreplay—which it probably was, Tarion realized.
The beautiful eyes twinkled. “I mean that Thargia would be very happy to see Nagland recover its independence. Thargia is not close enough to be a threat to you in itself. I think you are a man of Nagvale, beloved master."
"My father was a peasant,” Tarion agreed. “And then a palace guard, and then royal gigolo.” He twisted the boy's hair. “Is this what is said about me—that I would sell out to Thargia?"
"It is what is thought. Nobody says it. Ouch! That hurts!"
"It is meant to. Do you spy on me for the Thargians or the Joalians?"
With his head bent over at a critical angle, Dosh regarded the prince sideways and then said, “Both. Whoever pays me."
"Good. I appreciate honesty and a proper respect for money. Spy all you want, but remember this—while you are mine, you let no other man touch you! Unless I say so, of course."
"Of course not. I have my standards."
Tarion chuckled and released him. Then he put an arm around Dosh's neck and hauled him closer. “I love you, you little monster! When we have overrun a village or two in Themodvale, we shall enjoy the spoils of war. What would you like me to bring you? Girls or boys?"
Dosh's white teeth shone. “Either, as long as they are young and pretty. Like you, I am not fussy."
"I am extremely fussy."