The high templar walked forward and clasped his hands onto Agis’s shoulders. Instead of hugging the noble, however, Tithian spun him around to look at the tin-sheathed gate. “What do you think?” he asked, “That should keep them from burning it, shouldn’t it?”
Agis nodded. “I suppose it should,” he said. “Who are you trying to keep out?”
“In,” Tithian corrected. Behind the high templar, the jaws of several subordinates fell open. “If we were trying to keep someone out, wouldn’t we be putting the tin on the outside?”
“High One!” clucked a subordinate templar, “Is it wise to tell this to a noble?”
Tithian spun on the man savagely. “I decide what is wise and what isn’t, Orel,” he snarled, laying his arm over Agis’s shoulder. “My friend is as loyal to the king as I am.”
Agis could not help but grin at the irony of that statement.
Tithian motioned his templars back up the stairs. “Go and tell them to retract this gate. Agis and I wish to talk.”
After the templars left, Agis said, “Thanks for seeing me, Tithian.”
“It’s my pleasure, old friend,” the high templar replied, motioning him toward the terrace. “What can I do for you? Our last meeting was not very pleasant, and I’d like to make up for that.”
Agis forced himself to keep smiling, for the reminder of losing his slaves sent a surge of anger through him. Instead, he thought of two boys-himself and Tithian three decades earlier-creeping through his father’s faro field on a hot afternoon. He looked directly into the other man’s eyes and sent this thought drifting toward his mind, probing ever so gently for an opening that would allow him to slip into Tithian’s head without alerting the high templar to his presence.
The noble had chosen his attack carefully, giving it the form of a pleasant memory that both he and Tithian shared. He hoped it would serve as a hunter’s blind, concealing his presence while he guided the high templar’s thoughts in the direction he wished.
The shadow of a sentimental smile formed on Tithian’s lips, and Agis knew he had made contact. He did not press the probe any farther, giving the high templar’s mind time to adjust to its presence.
“With all of your duties, it must be difficult to attend to your lands,” Agis said casually.
“It can be difficult at times,” Tithian replied.
“Perhaps I can help you.”
Tithian raised an eyebrow. “How?”
Inside Tithian’s mind, the high templar’s subconscious noticed the memory Agis had planted and began supplying its own details. Young Tithian’s auburn hair was suddenly pulled into a short pony-tail, for he had just turned twelve and won the right to groom himself as he pleased. Agis’s own black hair was cropped almost to the point of baldness, much shorter than he had ever worn it, and his ears stuck out at an embarrassing angle.
The sweet scent of faro blossoms filled the noses of the two boys, for it had rained that year and all of the spiny plants boasted at least one of the huge red flowers. Short swords with obsidian blades appeared on the boys’ hips and crossbows in their hands. They were near the top of the gentle hill that separated the fields from the irrigation pond, hunting varls.
Agis suppressed a shudder at this memory. Not realizing how important the scaly slugs were to the orchard’s health, his father had sent him to hunt them at every opportunity. It was a wonder there had been any trees left when the estate finally came into Agis’s hands.
The young Tithian, standing near the top of the hill, suddenly dropped to his belly and motioned for Agis to do the same.
To the men standing in the gladiatorial stadium, all of this occurred in the blink of an eye. It was the moment Agis had been waiting for.
“Let me manage your fields,” the noble said to his old friend. “I’ll make them as fertile as mine.”
At the same time, from behind the screen inside Tithian’s mind, he sent out a single, compelling message: That is a wise suggestion.
Tithian’s subconscious continued to unfurl the memory. The young Agis called and asked what was wrong. Tithian silenced his friend with a finger to the lips, then peered over the top of the hill toward the irrigation pond.
Here Tithian’s memory diverged widely from what Agis remembered. The noble recalled lying on his belly in the dirt with the hot sun beating down on his back for what seemed like an eternity. He had heard a faint rustle in the faro ahead, but had not even caught a glimpse of what caused it. Agis had cocked his crossbow and waited, wondering what danger his friend had seen lurking in the fields ahead.
Tithian’s memory was different. In the high templar’s mind, be was peering over the hilltop. His eyes were fixed on Agis’s curvaceous sister Tierney as she swam nude in the pond.
The noble didn’t know whether to be angered or amused at the memory. In all the years since, Tithian had never revealed what he had really been watching over the top of the hill.
In the stadium, the high templar asked, “And what do you get in return for managing my fields?”
The tone of the question was amiable, but cautious. Of course Agis had no intention of telling the high templar what he really wanted, which was the opportunity to arrange a meeting between Rikus and Sadira.
“The use of your gladiators for part of each week,” he replied. “As kind as it was to leave my women and children, they can’t keep the scavengers out of the fields. In a day or two each week, a few gladiators could kill enough thieves to eliminate the need for field patrols, and it would be good practice for them.”
Returning to Tithian’s mind, the memory became more familiar, though it still varied slightly from what Agis recalled.
Suddenly three bony gith scampered through the faro, each clutching a sackful of stolen needles in one four-fingered hand and a huge spear in the other. Through Tithian’s memory Agis saw himself jump up and fire his crossbow, killing the leader. Young Tithian reacted more slowly, for his attention had been fully absorbed by the beautiful young woman right up until the moment he’d heard the scavengers.
Tithian struggled to bring his crossbow to bear. Agis drew his sword and charged the second gith as it dropped its needle sack. Tithian inadvertently triggered his weapon. The quarrel shot straight for his friend’s head. Agis swung his sword, separating his target’s skull from its neck. The momentum carried him off his feet, and Tithian’s bolt sailed over his head. The quarrel took the last gith square in its bulging eye.
The high templar’s memory of the event surprised Agis. For the last twenty-five years, the senator had believed that his life had been saved by a well-timed and skillful shot. Nevertheless, Agis was experienced enough in the Way that the discrepancies would not interfere with his plan. The noble sent the message he had come to plant in Tithian’s head: Say yes. Loan Rikus and Neeva to Agis.
Before his old friend could voice the agreement the noble hoped to hear, a female templar stepped to Tithian’s side with a message. As she whispered into her superior’s ear, Agis tried to listen from behind his memory screen. He heard a faint echo of the woman’s voice saying something about an urgent message. The thought passed too quickly for him to grasp, but he didn’t send a probe after it. The more active he became, the more likely it was that Tithian would detect his presence.
“You’ll have to excuse me for a moment, my friend,” Tithian said, moving down the terrace. He spoke with the woman for several moments, pausing once to give his guest an apologetic shrug.
Agis waited patiently, maintaining his presence in the high templar’s mind by slowly adding to the memory: Tierney appearing at the top of the hill, now dressed in a fleece robe and proclaiming the two boys her saviors; the young Agis telling her how Tithian had spotted the gith from the hilltop, and describing the incredible feat of marksmanship that had saved his life.