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Cold Blood

Chapter Twenty Two

Aftermath

by

Onyx Tao

[ This story is licensed under the

Creative Commons Noncommercial Sharealike 3.0 License

Copyright 2008 by Onyx Tao

all other rights reserved ](http://www.sofurry.com/edit/%5C)

The dreams came and went. Sounds that weren't sounds, colors that came and went with sensations of warmth, a feeling of heaviness that was a watery green-tinged blue, a feeling of lightness that was orange and tasted of coffee and salt. Words, in plain Latin and Greek, that were actually in some other language he didn't know. And of course, the dreams.

Most were just too tenuous to grasp, but some stayed with him. Walking up a staircase -- a minotaur sized staircase -- that curved to the left, made of polished wood. The railing was flesh and blood, though, covered in fur like a cat, and he could feel it breathing under his hand as he walked up. Somewhere, a hundred or a hundred hundred flights up, there was a skylight, but no doors, just stairs, going up, his footsteps echoing endlessly in the stairwell. He remembered walking up them for a long, long time.

Dreams of floating in a wide ocean of strawberry, drinking the sweet liquid, letting the waves rock him. He hadn't been able to move much, but then, he hadn't needed to, supported in the warm fragrant sea.

Dreams of hurling himself at a window, trying to get into the night sky, to dance with the stars. The window was huge, as tall as two men, curved at the top. Fifteen panes of glass were set in it, thin wood bracing the clear flat glass, and it didn't even budge when Dacien through his entire weight at it. The stars were calling him, and eventually, trapped behind featureless blue walls, all he could do was sit at the window and cry tears of wine and honey while the stars cried tears of fire and movement.

Cool dreams of caves, warm dreams of meadows with wildflowers -- except that the flowers were rings of petals surrounding puppies, leaning frantically toward him on their stalks, begging him with big soulful eyes to come play. Hot dreams of ashes, eaten cold, that tasted of the ink and parchment they'd once been, and then a foulness that he couldn't identify. That was the kind of dream one woke up screaming from, not out of fear, but out of an ineffable sense of horror, but he couldn't wake, so he just fell into another dream, riding a dark silver six-legged horse over bridges chasing a herd of deer. Just as he caught up with them, they unfolded great golden dappled wings, and launched themselves into the air, like so many pigeons avoiding a cat.

There were brief moments of dream that seemed real, in a soft minotaur bed, drinking warm milk mixed with honey, the gray solidity of Teodor, the hesitant black-and-white obeidience of Dapple, and even a red figure, stolid and strangely quiet. A rumbling voice would say, "Sleep, sleep," and the dream changed, to something more fantastic yet, or to a colorful melange of images and moments and thoughts that faded from memory as fast as they appeared.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was in exactly the bed he'd dreamed of. Large, soft, comfortable, and large enough for a minotaur, although it was smaller than the others he'd seen. Gray sheets matching gray walls and furniture made him certain this was Mistingrise. From where Dacien lay, he couldn't see the windows, but the day had to be overcast, sending gray light in to further deaden the signature non-color of Lord Fog and his home. He felt ... odd. Stiff. As if he'd been laying in bed for too long. His face twisted in a grin -- that's exactly what had happened. But ... why? A memory of pain rippled through him, he remembered ... the mirror, the spell collapsing. What had happened after that?

A motion drew his attention; a human. A human, wearing glittering stripes of dark colors tattooed across his skin -- like Chelm's slave, Zebra. No, it was Zebra, but the stripes that had been so black with hints of color where the light touched them now practically burned with dark fire. What had happened to the tattoos? Had Teodor changed them? The human reached out an almost painfully colorful hand to lift a polished silver bowl to his lips.

"Water, Sir," the human whispered.

Thirsty? He hadn't thought about it, but yes, he was. Horribly. The water was sweet, laced with another taste, metallic, but not quite salty, and herbal, like sage, or bay. Not pine, Dacien thought, and he realized a half moment later that pine was what he'd expected. He drank the bowl, and then another, and another, before he felt like he could stop.

"I'll go tell Master you're awake," the human said, quietly, almost as if he were ashamed of himself.

"No," and the voice was low, deep and uneven with disuse. It felt like he hadn't talked for a while. "Wait ..." too low, the sound was too deep, Dacien tried to clear his throat to speak normally, "why are you calling me sir?" It hadn't worked, his throat still wasn't working correctly. He inhaled, trying to clear his throat, and choked a bit. He could smell Zebra, and ... something else. Something ... almost familiar, almost ... it was ...

"Master will explain Sir," the human said nervously. "He commanded firmly, Sir, that I should fetch him if you woke."

Whatever that ephemeral scent or memory was, Dacien lost it. He tried to say, "yes," but he settled for just nodding. The human bowed, and ran out, the door swinging shut slowly, and then Chelm was there, just stepping to his side. Or at least ... no, it was Chelm, even if the deep red of Chelm's pelt was redder, much redder, than it had been, with a coppery sheen that Dacien didn't remember. And ...

That scent. It was back, stronger, clearer. Chelm. Somehow -- something -- marked the scent as minotaur, and more than minotaur: Chelm.

"Father is asleep," Chelm said, quietly. "You've been ... asleep, mostly, for just a bit over a week. Father was frantic. I don't think I've seen Father frantic before." There was a glint of amusement in his eye. "I hope not to see it again, but ... it was amusing."

"Over ..."

"It took him a couple of days, but he thinks he knows ... oh. You still don't, do you, brother mine?"

Brother?

"Father thought you might have guessed, but perhaps not." Chelm continued, thoughtfully. "Or perhaps you have, and you just haven't admitted it to yourself."

A hundred things came together in Dacien's mind. Of course. How ... how could he not have known. Maybe he had. And yet ... he dragged an arm up, heavy beyond belief, and turned his head with determination to look at it.

Something on his head caught at the pillow as he did, and the arm -- his arm, he supposed, although it seemed hard to think of it like that -- was thickly covered with the same fine red hair that covered Chelm. It -- he -- wasn't anywhere near as muscled as Chelm, and as he shifted, he could see the outline of taut muscle shifting across bone. But if it wasn't as grown as Chelm's, or even Teodor's, it was still a minotaur's arm, not a human's.

"You're a little on the thin side," Chelm continued. "Father says you can eat normally again, although he wants you to start off with broth. He wasn't sure if you'd be hungry when you woke up, and he told me I should wait to see if you were." Mild annoyance crossed his face. "And a hundred other things, none of them useful."

Was he hungry? He'd been thirsty, but ... he didn't feel hungry.

"Not hungry," he whispered.

"Not yet?" Chelm asked. "Father expects you to be, soon, so I'm having something brought up for you, anyway." The red minotaur was quiet for a moment. "Let's see. What else ... Lord Chimes is here, ostensibly to plan how to prevent Ourobouros from crushing the humans, but actually as a favor to Father."

"What ... what happened? With the mirror, I mean? Something went wrong?"

"You could say that, I suppose." Chelm's eyes glinted with some emotion, but Dacien couldn't quite tell if it were amusement or frustration. "As near as I can make out from Father's comments -- he doesn't explain himself to me the way he does to you -- the transformation is a complex spell guided by milk."

Dacien nodded, and then frowned. "Why do you think he explains himself to me?"

Chelm closed the expressive bovine eyes, and his reply was calm. "He did while you were asleep. I happened to be there, but ... he was explaining himself to you, Dacien, not to me. I'm not sure ... I'm not sure if he thought you could hear him, or if he did it to make himself feel better. And it might have been both." The minotaur's eyes opened again, and Chelm continued, his voice sliding easily back into a normal cadence. "I'm unsure if it's the spell of the milk, or the milk itself that is incorporated into your body, but one of them is. And apparently one of your bizarre unheard of ridiculous magic gifts is something akin to overloading spells with magic."

Dacien nodded again. "With the mirror, yes," he said. Talking was getting easier as his mouth felt less and less dry.

"I was in Lord Chime's office," Chelm admitted. "The mirror was impressive. But if I might return to my topic, Father believes you somehow overloaded the milk's spell, or whatever magic was involved in the transformation. Physical growth that should have happened over some longer period of time happened all at once, and it didn't happen evenly. Your horns are a yearling's, but other parts of you weren't changed, or weren't changed as much."

"It hurt," Dacien said, as another flash of memory came to him.

"I imagine so. We heard you scream through the mirror right before the mirror returned to normal and ... Lord Chimes tried to reach Father, but Father was not willing to discuss matters. I believe he ordered Lord Chimes to come here. If you're asking what happened after that, I'm not entirely sure, but I gather Father put you to sleep, and tried to balance things out, as much as he could. He said it was really a task for an earth-mage, but ... well, Father was quite smug about solving that problem."

"How?" asked Dacien.

"He didn't say," Chelm said. "And I didn't ask. Lord Chimes was able to speak with him, about four hours later. Father asked Lord Chimes to send me to him -- he needed me, he said. Lord Chimes was furious, Father was insistent, wouldn't explain himself to Lord Chimes, told him that the far-speaking spell was not safe from eavesdroppers. He said ... " His tone turned thoughtful, and he looked straight into Dacien's eyes. "It's you, isn't it? You can tap into the far-speaking spell, can't you."

Dacien looked up at Chelm, surprised, and the roan minotaur took his surprise for confirmation. "You can. Another bizarre ridiculous unheard of magic," Chelm said. "Whatever Father was sitting on, Lord Chimes had to come out. Had to. Father wouldn't leave you -- refused a direct order from Lord Chimes. So they got here, Lord Fog and Lord Chimes worked their versions of privacy spells, and ..." Chelm paused, considering.

"Do you know what was on the letter the Lord of Bones gave Father?" he asked.

Dacien shook his head.

"Lord Chimes had me check it for them. One of my Learneds, after all, is mathematics. I told Lord Chimes, who is my Lord, that ... the math says pretty much what the letter says it says. If I understand it properly. I think I do, although I'm still pondering some of the implications. Whoever did the original analysis for the Lord of Bones is ... hmmm. Brilliant and ingenious, to say the least." There was a noise behind Chelm asZebra handed the red minotaur another silver dish and set some kind of stand up on the table by the bed.

"Ready for broth?"

Dacien considered, and nodded.

The broth tasted nothing like the meat stock he'd expected. Bright green, it tasted of parsley and herbs and the faint sweet of carrot, and it tasted wonderful. The flavors danced on his tongue -- and he sputtered, as he realized just how long that tongue was, just how much his face had changed, until ...

"Too much?" Chelm asked, pulling the bowl back. "I've never done this before."

"No. I ... I just got tangled on my tongue. It's ..."

"Larger?"

"Yes."

"It's not the only thing," Chelm said, with a note of amusement. "There are quite a number of differences between minotaur and human. And any number of things Father should have told you, but didn't, because he's an absent minded idiot."

"He's been ..." and Dacien stopped.

"Good? Kind?" said Chelm dismissively. "Yes, I'm sure he has. But that didn't stop him from experimenting on you, did it? Always hunting for change."

Dacien paused, and gathered his thoughts. "It may be that I think Teodor has wronged me, in ways lesser or greater. But I will discuss that with no one but him."

He wasn't sure what Chelm would say, but the red minotaur simply gave him the bowl back to drink from, and he drank for a while before Chelm spoke. "You're right. I've no cause to ... drag my various arguments with Father out in front of you. And it is doubly wrong to attempt to enlist you in their service. I beg your forgiveness."

"You have it," said Dacien, and then paused. "Or are there formal words I should say?"

"'I forgive you,'" said Chelm, "Or, 'there is nothing to forgive.' Which one depends on how you feel about it."

"I forgive you," said Dacien.

"Thank you." Chelm smiled, an honest smile that surprised him. "Now that you're awake, you'll recover your strength ..." he paused. "Hmmm. It won't recover, will it, if you've never had it. You'll gain strength, very quickly, Father says. Feel like getting up? Maybe even seeing what you look like? I don't think anyone will recognize the impudent half-trained feral human Father's been dragging around."

"I would," said Dacien, throwing off the covers. He looked down, at a red and white minotaur's body. Was that really him? It was, but ... was it?

"Hold on," said Chelm. "There's a mirror in your bathing room. How does a bath sound?"

It sounded wonderful. "Good. Really good."

"Dapple's been giving you sponge baths," Chelm said, taking some of Dacien's weight, "but those don't really let you feel clean ..." his voice faded into uncertainty.

"We have baths in the Empire," Dacien said, a touch irritated. "Public ones. Not as nice, not magical. We have plumbing, too."

"Yes indeed," said Chelm. "Mostly of plumbum," and Dacien crinkled his eyes -- or tried to -- at the asperity of the comment.

"What else?"

"Copper or steel. Plumbing should be copper or steel. Or bronze. Your Empire has bronze, doesn't it?"

"Yes. But plumbum's ..."

"Poisonous," Chelm said. "Very slowly, but there's no cure other than a mage for it."

"It is?"

"It makes you sick, very slowly, but you never get better, never. It gathers in the bones and flesh."

"But ..."

Chelm shrugged, and Dacien kept walking into the bathing room. Not as large as Teodor's, it was still a good size, with a small sunken pool as washbasin. Everything was gray, though, aside from the silvery pipes that delivered water. "Huh. Teodor's bathroom has some colored tiles ..."

"He spelled them," Chelm said. "They shed his bleaching magic. He protects his books, similarly. Here's the mirror."

Dacien had been deliberately not looking at the mirror, as if ... somehow, putting off the moment would ...

Would what?

"What do you think?" continued Chelm, oblivious, for the moment, of Dacien's hesititation. "Dacien?"

"I don't know," the once-human said, staring into the mirror at the creature he had become. "I don't know."

He made handsome minotaur, Dacien thought, staring into the mirror, even if he was still on the scrawny side. He. A minotaur. Him. His pelt was the same brilliant red -- roan, Teodor had called it -- that Chelm was. Small horns curled away from his head. Across his chest and legs were three large blotches of white that tickled his memory as he realized they looked like Dapple's black markings. He glanced over at Chelm, wondering if he, too had them, and if Teodor had once had them, before the mage had faded to gray.

"What?" asked Chelm.

"Do you have these ... white blotches?"

"Blotches?" said Chelm, sounding amused. "White spots? Those are referred to as marque blanche. Blotches! Possessing them is being lune embrassée, and they're considered ... attractive. As to whether I have them -- no, not unless I were to bleach them into my pelt, and ... I'm too vain to be that vain." Chelm regarded Dacien thoughtfully. "You may have trouble convincing anyone they're real. Marque are not unusual, but they're usually black -- marque noir, the nuit embrassée."

"So Dapple is nuit embrassée? How ..." Dacien paused as a new vista spun out in front of him. He'd been seeing minotaur, and thinking of them as white or gray or silver or ... or whatever they'd looked like, but they obviously had their own descriptions. He thought back, but the only time he'd ever heard Teodor discuss appearance was ... when he'd mourned his own bleaching from roan. "So, I'm roan marque blanche?"

"Almost," said Chelm. "I'm roan. You're lune embrassée roan. Or a roan with marque blanche."

"Then Dapple is ... white nuit embrassée? No, nuit embrassée white? Or white with marque noir."

"Yes," said Chelm. "That's right."

"Cream?"

"What?" asked Chelm, taken by surprise. "You want cream?"

"No, I mean, what's the term for a ... a cream-colored minotaur? Like ..." Ruus, he almost said, and then managed to substitute, "Great Lord Chimes."

"Just Lord Chimes," corrected Chelm, with a slightly pained expression. "You don't have to call him great lord. Just lord. Lord Chimes is ivory."

Dacien nodded. "Then Lord Green is black?"

"No, black is a different color," Chelm paused, thinking. "Less glossy that Lord Green, without the blue sheen. Lord Green is ebony."

"Gold, like ... the Lord of ..." Dacien paused, trying to remember Luzeil's title.

"Tongs?" guessed Chelm.

"Yes."

"Or," Chelm said. "Luziel Lord of Tongs was o_r_." The twist that suggested a grin flickered for a moment, and then Chelm added, "I don't know why we don't just say yellow, or gold, but ... the term we use is or."

Dacien somehow pulled his eyes -- large, round, brown, away from the minotaur in the mirror. And looked back. Hooves. He had hooves. His legs were ... not backwards, he realized, just ... different. His foot was stretched out, he was walking on his toes -- or should have been his toes -- or what once had been his toes -- and -- and - he hadn't even noticed. What was this?

"Are you all right?" Chelm's voice stalled the incipient panic.

"I ..." Dacien started.

"You'll feel better after you're clean," Chelm said.

"I ..." Dacien thought for a minute that he'd give anything to feel normal but what was there to say? He'd have to settle for better. "Yes," he said. "Thank you."

The roan minotaur snorted. "It is nothing.

Dacien opened the water-valves easily, and then closed off the spigot, causing hot, steaming water to spray down into the tub. He scrubbed himself -- or his new self -- with sweet-smelling soap; it smelled floral, and good, but he didn't recognize the fragrance. Water and scented foam ran over the red pelt; the fine hair -- fur? -- caught the soap, and lathered easily.

He did feel better, as he got out of the tub, and Zebra was there waiting with a huge gray soft towel scented with ... with ... it smelled familiar, but he couldn't identify it, and then the detail slipped from him in a yawn. Tired, he was tired, Dacien realized, and after laboriously using the towel to dry himself more or less effectively -- he understood why Teodor had so often dried himself with magic. He yawned again, and walked back into the bedroom. The bed had been changed, the sheets and pillow-covers replaced with fresh crisp steamed ones, and Dacien dropped into the bed gratefully. After another bowl of the steaming green herbal soup, exhaustion caught up with him again, and Dacien fell asleep even before Zebra had finished pulling the sheets up around him. This time, his sleep was dreamless.

He woke to find the room awash in a warm gray light, the reds of dawn filtering in and adding a subtle color to the gray, washing it with soft light that lessened the dead color. Dacien sucked up a deep breath of cool air, scented with the moist smell of morning from the window. The air had the trace of morning mist, and the softer earthy notes of soil and plants, and he felt good -- not just good, but renewed. He'd dreamed he was ... that he had ... could ... could ... The conversation with Chelm -- yesterday? Could it have been real? Not a dream?

Dacien swung quietly out of bed to find Zebra, laying on the floor with a soft gray sheet and blanket. He tapped the sleeping human with his hoof. His hoof! The ordinariness of that almost overwhelmed him with a sense of strangeness, but instead the only thing that felt strange was that it seemed ordinary. He, Dacien, shouldn't have hooves. He shouldn't! Only ... he did.

He wasn't expecting the startled speed with which Zebra leaped up, turning shocked eyes to him, and then dropping onto the floor, crouched and silent.

"Zebra?" he asked, after a moment.

The human nodded, without looking up.

"Are you all right?"

Another nod.

"Why aren't you talking?"

"My Master ... prefers me not to, Sir."

Dacien blinked. "Well, you can speak to me."

"Yes Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Dacien got up, and looked around the room, more closely than he had with Chelm. His mind had been, most definitely, on other things, at that point. He looked down at himself again, and wondered at how right it seemed. He'd ... he'd expected to be upset, or surprised, or ... or ... something, but instead, it just seemed natural. He could feel the floor under his hooves, the soft carpet between the cleft. And it was just right. He smiled, and on the one hand, he knew -- just knew -- that his muzzle was twisting into that odd minotaur grin, and on the other -- he was just smiling.

Dacien sauntered off into the bathroom, and used the spray mechanism again, and this time, he took more time to examine himself. He seemed ... smaller, he thought, than Teodor, shorter might be a better term, and he had nowhere near the firm musculature of Chelm, but he was certainly healthy. The fine red hair -- Dacien decided he preferred the term hair to fur -- covered the outline of his body. It might not look firmly defined, but under his fingers, it was.

His sac was low, large, and the heavy stones themselves were nearly the size of a lemon. His maleness was sheathed, the sheath covered with the same fine red hair that covered his sac. It took him a moment of experimentation before he found just the right way to -- not quite squeeze, not quite push, but almost that, to get his shaft to rise out of the sheath. It, too, was red, if a brighter red than his pelt, slick, and both thicker and longer than it had been before.

A final rinse sent the last of the herbal soap down the drain, and he stepped out of the tub. The fine gray towel he'd grabbed from the rack brought the dampness down to a reasonable level, and Dacien faced his reflection in the mirror. A red, deep red, almost the color of blood red minotaur stared back at him, the white blotches -- marque blanche -- looking almost like wound across his chest and legs. He shook his head, and turned, to see his back, with yet another marque blanche on his right thigh, going all the way up to the small of his back.

The tail was all red -- roan -- nearly all the way to the tip, where there was a tiny marque blanche right before the trim red tuft. The tail twitched, involuntarily, and then thrashed back and forth as Dacien tried to move it -- almost drunkenly, he thought, swishing it around. He took a final look at himself, and walked back into the bedroom.

The first thing he saw was Zebra was still kneeling, crouched over, by the bed. Obviously, still waiting for permission to get up, Dacien thought, and a twinge of guilt struck him. He'd have to think about these things, now. "Zebra, you can get up," he said.

"Yes, Sir," said Zebra, who lifted his head, "thank you, Sir."

"Do I ... are there any clothes?"

"Yes Sir," Zebra said. "What kind of clothes do you want, Sir?"

Dacien paused. What kind of clothes? "Well, I thought I'd have breakfast," he said.

"Here, Sir, or do you want to go downstairs?"

Dacien blinked. "I'd like to get out of this room, I think."

"Yes, Sir. Breakfast is ... soon, downstairs, Sir. Should I get your clothes?"

"Yes," said Dacien, adding a belated "please."

Zebra rose and went out, returning a minute later with gray trousers, shirt, and robe, and, wordlessly, helped Dacien get into them. Although they were Teodor's gray, the cloth itself had a strong pattern of vertical lines that gave it a restrained elegance. At first, Dacien had thought it was cotton, but the garments were slick against his fingers, and heavier than he'd expected.

"Raw silk, Sir," Zebra told him in a low voice when he asked what the fabric was. "Is that all right?"

"Yes, it's fine," said Dacien. Somehow, Zebra's behavior bothered him, but ... it was the same way he'd behave to any other minotaur, wasn't it.

"Do you wish to have breakfast with the Great Lord and my Master?" Zebra asked. "Or do you just want to go down now?"

Dacien consulted his stomach, and although he was hungry, he decided he'd wait. "With them. How ... how do we know when they'll eat?"

"I'll have one of the Great Lord's servants let us know when they're going down, Sir," the human said, still in that very quiet voice.

"Good," said Dacien, and Zebra skittered from the room again, returning quickly only to crouch down again. "You may get up," he said. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No, Sir."

"When do you usually eat?"

"When my Master decides, Sir."

Accurate, Dacien thought, but not helpful. "When did you eat ... yesterday?"

"Master came by and sat with you in the morning while I ate, Sir, and then I ate again when you woke, Sir."

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"A little, Sir."

Dacien just shook his head. "Would you like to have breakfast now, or with me?"

Zebra froze, and then said, cautiously, "Whichever you prefer, Sir."

"Then you'll eat with me," Dacien said. "But ... go get a drink. Or ... why don't you go wash up?" and Dacien tilted his head to the bathing chamber. "We should have some time, right?"

"I don't know, Sir. Sir? I'm ... I'm to use your bathing chamber?"

"Yes." Dacien paused. "I mean, you know how everything works, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir, of course, Sir!"

"Well, go."

Zebra rose, and went into the bathing chamber, and Dacien paced the room, ending up at the window. A fine gauzy curtain of thin gray obscured the view, and he pushed it aside to discover he was on the third floor, facing gardens and a neatly trimmed green lawn in the center of a hedge maze, where three minotaurs were practicing with heavy quarterstaves. Dacien watched with interest. Chelm wasn't one of them, but he thought that the two of them -- one brown, one cream -- ivory, Dacien corrected himself mentally, and then wondered if even brown were the right word -- were working under Filius's instruction. It looked like fun, actually, even if the quarterstaff had never been his favorite weapon, and he grinned. A human might not be permitted weapons practice, but ... a minotaur! Practically a duty! He got drawn into the match, watching the sparring, and decided that both minotaurs were very good with the weapon.

And then he paused. Did that mean he ... he could use tempus? Was he even still a mage? A moment of contemplation showed him the planes and ripple of magic, and he let the vision lapse, relieved. He flexed his hands, wonderingly. They seemed human, or almost so, but they were lined with fine red up to the first knuckle of each finger. The skin on the palm, and the underside of his fingers, was thin and fine, without any of the old calluses or marks he'd had. A quick check revealed that the other scars, too -- the fine line on his leg wasn't just hidden under short red hair, but actually gone. Gone!

And he was just noticing? And ... Dacien stared at his hand again, and the fine red hair that covered it. He turned his hand over, still looking intently, and he realized he was seeing the finest lines, the smallest details of the skin. He'd never seen the fine dots that made up skin, but ...

How? It wasn't even voluntary, just a thought, and then the skin just looked like skin again, a pressure change around his eyes, and he bolted back to the window, back to the minotaurs, who'd moved on from their practice bout to the cream -- ivory -- now watching while Filius and the other sparred. He wasn't sure how he did it, but ... he could see the detail of that minotaur's face, or at least the side facing him. He could see the hair on the butter-yellow pelt! It had to be a thousand paces, and maybe more.

Dacien had had no idea. None. No idea that minotaurs could see so well ... that he could see so well. He had sat back down on the bed, trying to understand, and was staring bemusedly at the miniscule fibers in the sheet when Zebra entered. "Sir?"

Dacien looked at Zebra, and then ... of course. The colors were different, too. It wasn't Zebra's stripes that had changed. As a human, he'd seen them as deep inky black with hints of color skating over the surface. But that wasn't what a minotaur saw. They were chromatic bands of dark fiery colors he had no names for, that shifted and twisted all the way down. They were beautiful; and then Dacien blinked again, and looked at Zebra, and he saw the pattern in them. They might look random to a human but to a minotaur the play of line and light and shadow and color was ... beyond beautiful. Zebra was a work of art, Dacien realized, the stripes applied carefully and exactly and ... and ... lovingly. He wasn't sure why he thought that, but ... he couldn't shake the impression that whoever had laid out their design loved this human deeply; the tattoos were a unspoken declaration of ownership and fierce affection.

And with another shock, Dacien realized that Zebra himself didn't know that. Couldn't know that; didn't see them as a minotaur would see them. Did Chelm, he wondered, know that Zebra didn't? Teodor hadn't warned him of ... Teodor hadn't warned him of anything!

"Sir?"

The repeated word drew his attention back. "I'm sorry, Zebra," he said. "I was thinking. What is it?"

"Breakfast is being served, Sir, to my Master and the Great Lord, if ... if you wanted to join them," Zebra said. "Sir."

"Yes, yes," said Dacien. "Am I presentable?"

"Yes, Sir?" asked Zebra, clearly uncertain.

"Are you?"

"Am I what, Sir?"

"Presentable."

The human just stared at him. "Presentable, Sir? I'm sorry, I don't understand what .."

"It's fine," said Dacien. "Don't worry about it. Um. You do know how to get to ... to wherever they're having breakfast?"

"Yes, Sir," said Zebra.

"Well, since I don't know where it is, you'll have to lead."

"Oh, yes, of course, sorry, Sir," and Zebra started immediately out the door. Even from the back -- especially from the back, Dacien realized, the stripes moved almost hypnotically across the human. He didn't even think about paying attention to the path, but they simply went down a corridor, down a staircase, down another staircase, around and through another corridor, until Zebra came to a door that looked familiar, and opened it for him.

Dacien walked through into the dining room where he'd eaten breakfast -- if from the floor -- with Teodor and Trand, the first morning he'd been here. The room today had more minotaur in it -- six, and in the blink of an eye and ... something like a wind pushed against him as four of them sprung into the acceleration of tempus. Dapple and Chelm materialized almost simultaneously in front of him, weapons drawn, between him and the other two.

"No! Weapons down!" yelled Chelm. "No threat! No threat! Weapons Down!"

The hint of magic that had crept through the room dissipated like a bell stilling into silence, and then Lord Chimes stood up. "Teodor? Who is this? And ... why does my Captain of the Guard insist that a strange minotaur is no threat? And ..." he paused. "You have a relative staying here? That you didn't mention?"

Teodor put a glass of purple liquid -- wine? - down on the table, and stared at Dacien, before turning his head to Ruus. "In a manner ... yes. Yes. He was ill, and ... should be in bed. Sleeping. Or at least I thought he'd be sleeping, still ..." the gray minotaur visibly gathered his thoughts. "A most pleasant surprise, really, although ... perhaps, too much of a surprise ..." Teodor tapped the table once. "As Chelm is correct, there is no threat at all, Dapple, please return to your place."

The white and black minotaur bowed, and did, as Teodor continued. "And Chelm, I do appreciate your ... quick understanding of the situation, and ... excellent reactions, but breakfast is waiting, is it not?"

"It is."

"Perhaps your guards could return to their positions, Ruus?"

"Yes," said the ivory minotaur. "Perhaps you could introduce us. I thought ... I thought I knew all of your line."

Teodor smiled. "Chelm has a brother, newly acquired."

Ruus picked up a fork of scrambled eggs and dipped them in a white sauce before eating them. "Not that newly acquired. He looks ... fifteen? Sixteen? Have you had him here at Mistingrise all that time?"

"Ah," said Teodor, taking a sip. "I suspect he came down for breakfast ... yes?"

"Yes," Dacien said, and managed to bite off the Master that almost followed it. "I did. I didn't mean to surprise you."

"No?" said Teodor. "Well, bring Zebra on over. Get a plate for yourself."

Dacien got two plates, and heaped food onto the top plate from the steaming dishes on the sideboard. Eggs, sausage, greens -- lantail, he recognized, and avoided it. Sliced apples and pears, a few grapes, and the purple liquid in the pitcher turned out to be fresh grape juice. The rest of the minotaurs ate in the stilted silence of an interrupted conversation, waiting for him to join them. He sat, divided some of his meal onto the second plate, and put it down for Zebra. Teodor watched him with ... he wasn't sure what Teodor was thinking. The Lord of Chimes was clearly angry and suspicious, but he was avoiding looking at anything other than his plate.

"You clearly slept well," Teodor said, after he'd served Zebra.

"Yes, thank you," Dacien said. "I didn't know the ... the Lord of Chimes was here."

"And vice versa," the ivory minotaur commented. "Teodor, please introduce me to your son."

"Ah," said Teodor, and Ruus looked at him.

"Why ..." and then the Lord of Chimes was quiet for a moment. "Let me rephrase that. Teodor, what are doing, and what is happening?"

"I really ... didn't want to introduce him until he was of age," Teodor said.

"Oh? Why would that be?" The Lord of Chimes turned to look at Dacien. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six," Dacien said, as Teodor grimaced.

"Age is twenty, is it not?"

"Yes, well ..."

"Teodor. What are you doing?" the Lord of Chimes repeated.

Teodor stood up. "My Lord of Chimes, may I introduce my son and apprentice, Dacien?" He extended his hand to Dacien, as he said, "Dacien, I present you to My Lord of Chimes."

The ivory minotaur put his fork down. "Dacien is the name of the ..." and a chime of magic sounded, somewhere. "That's a fine illusion, Teodor, but it ..." he paused, and the chime sounded again. "I don't see how you've constructed an illusion that ... you can't even sense earth magic."

"No," said Teodor, sitting back down.

"Don't tell me this isn't an illusion."

Teodor just smiled, and said nothing, taking a bite of hot griddle-cake.

"It's an illusion. It's ... purely mental? I'm ... seeing what I need to see to make me believe it?"

"Father," said Chelm. "Please?"

"Yes," said Teodor. "No, Ruus, it's not an illusion." He paused, and looked at the guards. "You will consider this Council business -- this entire conversation."

"Yes, Lord Fog," the guards said, almost but not quite in unison.

"It's not possible," said the ivory minotaur, shaking his head. "Or at least I would have said it isn't possible." He paused. "You could have told us."

Teodor smiled. "I suppose I could have."

Ruus snorted. "We would have told you not to do it."

"Do you know," said Teodor, thoughtfully, "I do believe you may be right. Think of all the argument and hyperbole I've saved us."

"Excuse me," said Chelm, turning first to Lord Chimes and then Teodor. "My Lord, Father, but ... this is breakfast."

"Yes," said Lord Chimes, coolly. "It is. What of it?"

"Meaning no disrespect, My Lord, but it is not, for example, the council chamber, or your office, or Father's study. It is, My Lord, not a place where business is conducted. This is a meal, My Lord, that you are sharing with Lord Fog and his family."

"That's true," said Lord Chimes. "I'm sure I didn't mean otherwise."

"I'm sure you didn't," said Chelm, ignoring the mildly querulous tone. "But this is also the first meal I've had the pleasure of sharing with both Father, and my brother."

"Your brother," said Lord Chimes, dubiously.

"Yes, My Lord. My brother."

"Allow me to reserve my judgement," said the ivory minotaur.

"No, My Lord, I am sorry to have to disagree with you, but I do not think I can, and retain any semblance of honor."

"Captain?" said Lord Chimes, even as Teodor said, "Chelm?"

Chelm nodded at Dacien. "This is my brother, My Lord. You can see the family resemblance between us, can you not?"

"I think the council will want to discuss this, Captain," said Lord Chimes.

"I cannot see anything open to discussion." said Chelm, speaking very carefully. "Nothing, Lord Chimes. And I assure you I will act to defend my brother against any kind of insult." The roan minotaur looked steadily at the ivory one as he continued, "as is my privilege."

The ivory minotaur shook his head. "You can't challenge over an objective fact."

"You are a earth-mage, My Lord. You do not represent to me that you have no way to determine consanguinuity," said Chelm. "Do you?"

"No," said Lord Chimes.

"Then what does your magic tell you? As an objective fact? Are we not related, Dacien and I?"

Magic burst into the room and faded. "You are," said the ivory minotaur, although he didn't sound pleased.

"And in a way that would suggest to any competent mage, brothers?"

"Yes," said Lord Chimes heavily. "I do not deny it."

"Then the objective fact, My Lord, is that we are brothers," Chelm said. "Because ..." and the minotaur paused. "Father, we're reaching subjects unsuited for human ears."

"They will not hear us," said Teodor, as cool gray filled the room.

"Thank you," the roan minotaur said. "As I was about to point out, minotaurs are human. Improved, certainly. But we breed with humans, we are born of humans, do you deny that?"

"No, although there are those who would."

"I reject Exemptionism," said Chelm. "Do you actually believe that minotaurs are a special exemption of the creators, Lord Chimes?"

"No," said the ivory minotaur. "I don't."

"Even those that claim to believe it -- Ungoliant, for example, and Kurga -- choose their humans for breeding with care -- great care. Would they do that if they truly believed that a human, male or female, was simply a vessel for reproduction and offered no blood inheritance to the child?"

"Actually they would and do," said Teodor, surprising the other two. "Ungoliant believes that anything less than an exceptional warrior-trained human is simply unfit, and would dishonor the child."

"They say so, I'm sure," said Chelm. "But they don't act in accord with their belief. Lord Chimes, doesn't your magic tell you that there is human consaginuity in every minotaur?"

"I ..." the ivory minotaur fell silent, and bowed his head. "It does. There is."

"Then, My Lord," said Chelm, more quietly, "how can you even suggest that this is somehow not my brother?"

"I am ... persuaded," said Lord Chimes, still sounding less than pleased. "But there will be others who are less amenable."

"Then they may face me in a circle," said Chelm, calmly. "And I will prove the error on their corpses."

"Yes, I suppose you could," said Lord Chimes with a sigh. "Brilliant, Teodor. Brilliant."

The gray minotaur blinked. "I? Brilliant?"

"Chelm will prevent any reasonable challenge to Dacien, even once his ... origin ... gets out."

Teodor stood. "Lord Chimes," he said. "I am proud of my son Chelm, and his accomplishments. But I beg you to take note that, until just a week ago, I was ignorant of them. I am gratified beyond words that he should so take his brother under his protection -- but it was not something I calculated." The gray minotaur inclined his head toward the roan. "I had no notion Chelm had become so formidable. Nor would I use my son so, even had I known."

The ivory minotaur just shook his head. "That is true, I suppose. No. I grant that you would not. But ..."

"But what?"

"How am I going to explain this to the council?"

Teodor sat back down, and resumed eating. "What is there to explain?"

Lord Chimes nodded abruptly. "We say nothing, simply announce that you have a new apprentice. There's no need to qualify the matter."

"Really? You don't think anyone will wonder just how my own son became my apprentice?"

Ivory-cream fingers tapped impatiently on the table. "Must we mention that part?"

"The council will want to know who, as well as why the mage in question ... was previously unknown," Teodor said. "So I rather think we must. Lord Green, for one, is aware that my human was called Dacien. I daresay having a minotaur apprentice who is coincidentally named Dacien will make him curious. To say the least!"

"We change his name," Ruus responded.

"Mmmm," said Teodor, looking intently down at his plate. "Perhaps you would like to reconsider that last suggestion? As, I am very sorry to have to tell you, I do not think it is a comment worthy of my friend Ruus, nor the Lycaili Speaker Lord Chimes."

"I suppose not," Lord Chimes conceded. "I beg your forgiveness." He burst out, "But this is just ... impossible!"

"I know only too well how easy it is to ... speak poorly, in a moment of confusion and passion," Chelm said. "I hope I am never so churlish as to take offense at such."

"I, too." said Teodor, nodding at Lord Chimes and then Chelm. "But it is not impossible. It's not even difficult. You will brief our colleagues that I have an new apprentice, and inform them, via whatever codes you have, that there is sensitive information. And then in person, at your convenience and theirs, you explain the situation."

"Do feel free," Chelm said in a deep voice, "to inform them that I will take great offense at any inference that my brother is anything less than a full-blooded Lycaili minotaur, and my father's son, and I will feel free to beg their indulgence to improve their opinions. Directly."

Lord Chimes smiled very briefly at Chelm. "I'm sure that will be effective at cutting off the sputtering. But ..."

"But nothing," said Teodor. "I -- we, I should say, owe our brother mages full honesty, and a complete accounting. If they wish to task me with some deficiency, they may do so."

"That's settled, then," said Chelm, looking at the two mages, Teodor and Ruus. "Yes?"

Teodor nodded, and Lord Chimes grunted, "I suppose."

"Good," said Chelm, and turned to face Dacien. "Good morning, Dacien. Sleep well?"

"Yes. Thank you," Dacien replied. "I'm sorry to cause such an argument."

All three of the others exchanged a look, and then Teodor said, "Ah. Well, it won't be the last one. Let us move on to ... matters of the day. I admit I hadn't expected anything more than your continuing to sleep. I'm delighted to see you up and eating -- it's perfectly fine to take more," Teodor said, noting the now almost bare plate. "I'd expect you to be hungry. Very."

"I am," said Dacien, getting up to take advantage of the suggestion. "I wasn't, really, until I started eating, but ... yes, I'm hungry."

"Good," said the gray minotaur with a smile. "That means ... well, it means everything is ... going as expected. At this point."

"At this point?" asked Lord Chimes. "Is this connected to what happened with Rill's Mirror? Or should I ask how it's connected?"

"It was. A miscalculation on my part," said Teodor. "For which Dacien paid the price, I'm afraid. I am sorry about that, Dacien. It ... the transformation process is the work of the Creators, and that some magic I -- or you -- could do could influence it never occurred to me."

"Dacien's magic affected a Creator spell?" asked Lord Chimes, sounding perturbed. "That's ..." he paused, and Dacien felt a riffle of tones as magic settled into place. "Lord Fog, privacy? For the four of us?"

Cool grey magic filtered out even as Teodor nodded. "If you wish. But why?"

"Because," said the Lord of Chimes softly, "the great war magics are Creator magics. The deluge that Xarbydis unleashed against Scylla -- Creator magic, meant to fill oceans. Spells to raise islands, to submerge land in molten rock, to move mountains, open borders -- Creator magics. Magics that are not affected by our lesser skills."

"Are they," breathed Teodor, almost soundlessly with a shocked look. "I didn't know ... Surely Lycaili has no such things?" His words might have started as a statement, but they turned to a question.

Lord Chimes shook his head. "There is no need to speak of such things," he said. "But if Dacien could empower such a spell, then might he not be able to dissapate it?"

Teodor was silent for a long, long, minute. "I do not know," he said finally. "But now, Ruus, I am scared. Who must be told?"

"The Patriarch. Lord Green. But I will tell them only that ... the strong possibility exists that we might have a way to cancel out the great spells. Not how, not who, and certainly not ..." Lord Chimes paused. "But if I tell them about him, they will make the correct deductions."

"Likely," agreed Teodor. "Neither of them are stupid." Teodor smiled, a brief, short smile. "Which I do believe is a good thing."

"Pardon me," said Chelm, carefully. "Father. My Lord Chimes. I do not think I need to know this. Exclude me from the conversation, please."

"Agreed," said Lord Chimes, and Dacien felt the magics shift. "Will he be willing to forget this conversation?"

"He will," Teodor said. "I will take it from him." The gray minotaur looked concerned. "I and Dacien must know, if only to avoid the topic."

"Agreed," said Lord Chimes, and then, for the first time, the ivory minotaur faced Dacien. "Do you understand why this ... capability ... must be hidden?"

"No, Lord Chimes," Dacien said.

"Fear of the great Creator spells -- the ones the Creators used to make the world -- have kept us at peace, mostly," Lord Chimes said softly. "There are at least twenty such spells ... and I suspect there are more. Perhaps five times that number. They are the most closely guarded secrets of any Clan. Lord Fog himself is not privy to ours -- not because he is distrusted, but because he has no need to know, nor does he stand in succession to one of us who do need to know. Everything regarding them is secret -- everything. They are unlike most spells ..."

"Hold," Teodor said. "I haven't explained about spells to him yet."

"What have you taught him?"

"Very little," said Teodor, in a frustrated tone. "He is unsuitable as a lens, I will not permit him to use me as a lens without ... great need. All of our training depends on those techniques. I have struggled with this problem for some time without resolution. And I will explain how the Creator spells differ from ours, when I ... reach that point."

"Fine," said Lord Chimes. "Just ..." he paused. "When your apprentice is ready, Lord Fog, he will need to know everything about them. I will instruct him myself. If I am not available, Lord Green." He turned back to Dacien. "Until then, forget this conversation. It did not occur. You have heard of war magics, but they are forbidden. That ... they are anything more than that is ... itself a great secret."

"I understand, Lord Chimes," said Dacien, solemnly.

"No," said Lord Chimes, with a shudder. "You don't. And I ... I will put off your understanding, as long as I may."

"It is bad?" asked Teodor, awkwardly.

The ivory minotaur looked down, at his plate. "It is ... not something I can discuss, Teodor. And ... we are done with this." The soft tones that marked Lord Chime's magic faded.

"Not quite," Teodor said. "There's a tiny bit more."

Lord Chime's magic returned. "What?"

"The Lord of Bone's theory."

Lord Chime's eyes narrowed. "Yes?" He turned to look at Dacien. "Does he need to know this?"

"He does," Teodor said quietly. "I told you I had something ... but I couldn't tell you just yet."

"Yes," said the ivory minotaur. "Irritating."

"Judge for yourself," Teodor sighed. "Dacien's affinity is, as far as I can tell, magic itself. He can trigger a potential mage. Thus, Dapple, accidentally, as well as Chelm. Deliberately."

"Chelm?" asked a surprised Lord Chimes.

"I needed to test it," Teodor said, with a smile. "Who else could I fairly test it on? I do think we should hold off on making use of this power until we see how ... it turns out."

Huge brown eyes set in soft ivory hair focused on Dacien with a thoughtful look. "Yes," he said.

"There's more," Teodor said. "He can tap into the far-speaking spell, if he's close to the target. Conversations we've had when I was ... out of the room, or at a distance, he was unaware of. But if he was with me ... he heard everything."

"How?"

"It seems to happen without any direct effort on his part," Teodor said. "It seems unique. It's entirely possible, probable even, that he is the only mage who can do it."

"We can hope so, at least," grunted Lord Chimes unhappily. "Well. It's not as if you didn't warn me." The ivory minotaur took a breath. "Have you identified his signature?"

Teodor smiled. "I think so."

"Well?"

"Listen."

The Lord of Chimes sighed, set down his eating-tine, and was quiet. Teodor just waited, smiling almost impishly.

"I don't hear anything," the ivory minotaur said.

"No? You are certain?"

"Yes," said the ivory minotaur, with a touch of impatience. "What is it you hear?"

Teodor grinned. "Let me ask again, Ruus. Listen. What is it that ... you don't hear?"

The puzzlement that flashed over the soft face was replaced almost instantly with understanding, which gave way, almost as quickly, to awe. "Creation!" he whispered. "How ... what are the limits of this? How far does it extend?"

"About a thousand feet from him," Teodor answered. "And ... it can be overwhelmed. When Lord Green and I were together with him, some of my signature leaked through, and I suspect, Lord Green's, as well. It sufficed for Luzeil and myself, and even the Lord of Bones and myself."

"Did the Lord of Bones notice?"

"No more than you did," Teodor said.

"Pardon me," said Dacien. "But ... what is the Lord of Bone's signature?"

The two other minotaurs looked at each other, and then Teodor answered him. "Dust. Ash. Everywhere." Teodor grimaced. "Possibly easier to overlook than Lord Chime's, or even mine, although nearly everything around me is already gray."

"Oh," said Dacien. "So ... what ... what was in the letter?"

Teodor glanced at Ruus; the ivory minotaur let out a huff of breath, but nodded, and handed Dacien the letter. "Here. Read it yourself."

Dacien took the letter gingerly as he admitted, "I can't read, Lord Chimes."

"You explain it, then," Ruus said to Teodor.

"Certainly." The gray minotaur pondered for a moment. "The Lord of Bones, Nikohorus, has some interesting mathematics that suggest -- strongly -- that there are far fewer minotaur mages than there ought to be, or rather, than there were, before the ... stabilization spell became ubiquitous among us. Ourobouros, for example, has official titles for twenty mages, and ... many years ago, most of them were used. Today, they have but four mages. Nikohorus -- Niko -- believes they should have nearly eighteen. Similarly, we -- Lycaili -- have five. Niko believes we should have nine. He's analyzed other clans, and they are in the same situation we are. And that part of it, certainly, is true. In the past, we -- and others -- have had more mages, but in as much as we have about as many as those around us, we haven't really been alarmed. The decrease has been slow.

"Unnoticeably slow," Teodor continued. "Niko's clever mathematics appear to show that the current number of mages is ... too low to happen by accident. I say appear, because, truthfully, I do not pretend to understand these mathematics. Chelm has examined them, and considers them very clever, if I may use his term. Although he reserves a final judgment on these maths, he is inclined to credit them. As am I, and the Lord of Chimes." The gray minotaur paused for a moment.

"It is not that we hadn't noticed, at least in part. All of us mages are busy, very busy, always. Perhaps that kept us from noticing the entirety of it. Niko's so-clever mathematics suggest that in another five hundred years, if things continue, we will have insufficient mages to sustain our clans." Teodor was not smiling now, not at all. "This, then, is the problem before us. It is, at the moment, a deep secret, as we ponder the cause. Niko believes the extension spell is to blame itself, and certainly, it seems likely, but ..." Teodor paused. "I wonder.

"Dacien, do you recall the conversation I had with Luzeil? About a series of border raids?"

"Vaguely," said Dacien. "You thought Ourobouros was responsible, and Luzeil denied it."

"Yes," said the Lord of Chimes dismissively. "Of course he would."

Gray horns shook in negation. "What he said sounded like truth to me," Teodor said. "Phrased clearly. Not much room for deception."

"Perhaps he's figured out your trick," Ruus said.

"Perhaps," said Teodor, clearly not agreeing. "I wish I had been ... more discrete with it." Lord Chimes stared at Teodor. "No, no, I meant in admitting that the trick existed. I have shared it with no one. Nevertheless. Consider the possibility that there's someone else involved."

"Who?" The Lord of Chimes' frustrated question made it clear that he couldn't imagine any serious contender other than Ourobouros.

Teodor shrugged. "I don't know. But if Lord Ember taught me nothing else, he did manage to convince me that ignorance is entirely different than evidence."

"Shadows," muttered Ruus. "I won't jump at shadows."

"No," said Teodor. "But we can be prepared for something to emerge from them."

"There's nothing there," said Ruus, after a moment. "There's nothing to be there."

Teodor waggled his hand, back and forth. "Perhaps," he said.

Chelm had taken him, after breakfast, on a tour of the house, as the two mages were still planning. Guest suites, the wing reserved for Teodor and Chelm, and now, Dacien as well. His suite. Not rooms connected to Teodor's, but his own suite. With rooms of its own, for his own ... Dacien forced himself to face the thought. For his own humans. It seemed so unreal, and yet, there was there Chelm -- a minotaur if ever there was one, blithely leading him about the house, up to his own rooms, just as if he, too, were a minotaur. But he wasn't! Dacien looked down at himself. He wasn't a minotaur, no matter how much he might look like one. Was he? Did simply looking like a minotaur make him one? Or was he one, and ... it just hadn't sunk in yet. Would he feel different? What if he did feel different, and ... he just didn't know?

"I've been thinking about what I need to show you," Chelm said, as they finished, going into his own rooms. Zebra was there, waiting, with Markus -- Leopard, Dacien corrected himself. Leopard. He stared at the ex-infantryman, searching for even a glimmer of recognition, but there was nothing, not now. "This is important. Very important."

Chelm pulled a chair to a small table. "Sit," he told Dacien, and then he switched to Latin. "Leopard. I assume you've arm-wrestled before."

Markus nodded.

"Good. You're going to arm-wrestle ..." Chelm's voice faltered for a moment, as he carefully did not call Dacien by name. "My brother. Do your best. I will reward your best effort."

The human nodded again.

"Why ..."

"Go on," said Chelm, and then, as Markus was reaching for a chair, he added "No, Leopard, you stand. Yes, it will give you more leverage. Go ahead. Brace yourself."

Dacien sat, and locked his grip with the human. "Begin when Leopard does," Chelm instructed. "Leopard, you may begin."

The heavy-set human looked at him, still without recognition, and then his muscles tensed as he set his strength against Dacien's. Dacien's own grip swayed for a moment, as he took the pressure, and then he pushed himself. Markus's hold broke. Not expecting it, Dacien suddenly realized with a sense of horror that he was going to slam Markus' hand -- and arm -- onto the hard table, and probably smash them.

He didn't, because Chelm's own powerful grip, coming from the nowhere of tempus, closed around his hand, arresting it mid-air. "There," Chelm said, and Dacien let go of Markus, shaken. Markus was looking at Dacien -- resentfully? Angrily? Dacien wasn't sure, but there was certainly no happiness in that sour expression. "Leopard, you did well -- very well. Better than you might have. I'll reward you properly ... tonight."

The minotaur turned to the other human, as Markus settled, still visibly unhappy, into a resentful kneeling position. "Zebra, please return to his rooms," and Chelm tilted his head towards Dacien. "Wait for us there."

Chelm didn't bother waiting, he just headed out the door, and called back, "Coming?"

"Where?"

"Outside," Chelm called back from the hallway.

"Sure," said Dacien, hurrying a little to catch up with the older minotaur. "But shouldn't I go ..."

"Father will call for you when he wants you," Chelm said. "Probably in the afternoon. He and Ruus have been working in the mornings."

"What was that about?" asked Dacien, as they headed downstairs. "I could have hurt him!"

"Yes," said Chelm. "That's exactly what it was about. You're much stronger than you think you are. You'll get used to it, but for the time being -- treat everything as potentially fragile. Especially humans."

"Humans," said Dacien. "But at the table you said ..."

"Wait," said Chelm, interrupting him. "Wait until we're outside. We don't want to be overheard."

The gardens were not as elaborate as the gardens of House Green, but they were still elaborate, with stone block paths leading through carefully trimmed foliage. No flowers were blooming yet, but Dacien still felt he was wading in a huge green leafy pond. They navigated toward one of the fountains, three human females with water flowing from heavy stone jugs. Water poured from an upright jug on a standing woman's shoulder. A tipped jug poured water from the second figure, and the third jug, held by a kneeling woman, was fully horizontal. Dacien glanced into the wide basin as they reached it, and was not surprised to see large fish, brightly colored in orange, red, and gold scales, swimming ponderously in the shallow water.

Chelm looked around, and nodded. "Sorry to cut you off back there, but ..."

"I understand," Dacien said. "Some things you don't talk about in front of humans." He tilted his head. "Human humans."

"Quite a number of things," agreed Chelm. "For instance, whether minotaurs -- we -- count as human or not."

"But most think we ... they ..." Dacien stopped, and tried again. "Most think minotaur aren't human."

"We permit humans to think that, but in truth ... no, not in Lycaili," said Chelm. "Most -- minotaurs, Lycaili, at least, think of ourselves as human. Other clans ... can differ. It's an old argument -- are minotaurs derived from human, but something different, or just ... different humans. I don't think there's been a lot of passion about it. Lately. Sort of more the chicken-and-egg kind of controversy. But ..."

"But I might stir up a lot more passion," said Dacien, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. "Right."

"Maybe," said Chelm.

"I'd like to thank you for ... well, ..."

"Championing your cause?" asked Chelm dryly.

"I suppose," said Dacien. "I mean, I think I'll be able to do it myself ..."

"Not anytime soon," Chelm said. "You're not full-grown, and you're not a tempus master, and I doubt you'll ever be one. I'm not saying you couldn't be," Chelm added quickly. "But you're going to be a mage, remember? You'll learn tempus basics, but you'll be busy enough learning magic."

"I suppose," said Dacien, again. "This is just ... it's ... so strange."

"Yes," agreed Chelm. "Oh yes. I'm sure it is."

"Can ..." Dacien paused, unsure of himself.

"You can ask me anything, brother," Chelm said. "Believe me. I really do understand. Anything. Truly. Go ahead."

"Why?" Dacien said finally. "I mean, you've been ... you've been much ... I can't imagine how you could have been more helpful. But ... I mean, after listening to you back in ... House Gray, I think, I don't understand. I'd ... I would have expected you to be ... well, more like Lord Chimes. Or Lord Green. I'd ... I mean I never would have thought you'd preemptively challenge anyone ..."

There was a brief laugh. "Of course I would," Chelm said. "Or ... ah, I see. Back in the city, when Father talked to me privately -- he told me what he was going to do."

"I figured that."

"I told him he was crazy -- it would kill you. I thought it would kill you, actually, but ... well. It nearly did, but that was more of an accident. I told him it was rash, foolish, and even if it worked -- it would kill a human. Do you know what he said?"

"No," said Dacien. "What?"

"He just said, ‘It worked with you, didn't it?'"

Dacien sat, stunned. "Oh." Chelm had been ... human human?

"Father says -- and I believe him -- that he transformed me as a newborn. That it took about six months. So," Chelm continued, "when I say I have a really good idea of how strange you feel about this, I mean it. I spent the next couple of days -- Folly! I still feel strange about it. But ... I did come to the conclusion that you're my brother." Chelm nodded, to himself. "And ... I think I realized just how ... well, I have an idea of how strange it must be. All the strange that I went through, with the addition of suddenly being ... different. As if I woke up one morning and discovered suddenly I was a human. That's ... that's why I wanted to ..."

Chelm? The mental voice was that of the Lord of Chimes.

"Pardon me for a moment. My Lord. How may I serve you?" asked Chelm, his voice changing to one of soldierly detachment.

We'll be leaving, after lunch. I'm sorry to tear you away from your family, especially in these circumstances, but Lord Green is going to be passing through town tonight. I don't want to miss him, especially as he's seeing Lord Winter next week.

"Yes, My Lord. I'll gather your guard. We wait on your convenience."

Thank you for being so understanding, and then the clear tones of Lord Chimes' magic faded.

"Duty calls," said Chelm.

"I heard," Dacien said.

"Well. I'd wanted ... never mind," Chelm said. "I have a present for you, something that I think ... I hope that you'll appreciate. There's an ulterior motive to it, but ..."

"Thank you," Dacien said. He glanced around the garden. "I was actually hoping maybe ..."

"Anything," repeated Chelm.

"I really miss weapons practice," Dacien admitted.

Chelm grinned. "I completely understand. I wish I could work with you myself, but ... Filius is a good arms master. Talk to him, I'm sure he'll be happy to work with you."

"Did ... Teodor make him commander?"

Chelm snorted. "No. Father hasn't decided yet." The roan minotaur got up, sighed. "I'll need to get started ... as I said, I have a gift. It's in your rooms." He started walking leisurely back to the house.

"Thank you," started Dacien.

"Hold off until you know what it is," said Chelm. "It's Zebra."

"Zebra?" asked Dacien, surprised, and then surprised again that he'd thought so. Had he noticed such things before? He'd been attracted to Teodor, but ... was this new?

"He's ... well trained, competent, obedient, and ... I saw you watching him."

"He's handsome," admitted Dacien, still wondering if this was yet another change. "He's beautiful, actually. Those stripes ... but ..."

"But nothing," said Chelm. "He's also sick. Father thinks he can ... do something. Not cure, but ... suppress, the problem. But to do that, he needs to be near Father, and ... that means I need to give him either to him, or to you. And Father has enough humans and you ... well, maybe he's not the perfect gift. But I think I'd rather give him to you than Father. Father's ... awfully slack, with humans. They do better with a firm regimen."

"I see," said Dacien wryly.

"You disagree," Chelm said, after a few more steps.

"Yes."

Dacien thought the other was going to say something, but Chelm just nodded, and finally said, "Do it your way, then. May it work for you."

"I will," Dacien said, and they walked back to the house in silence.

Back in his rooms, Dacien noted almost glumly that the room had neatened, the bed dressings changed, and Zebra even looked liked he'd had a chance to wash. Dacien looked a little more closely at the now intensely colored stripes, and wondered again just how much his vision had changed. Along with everything else. It was hard to tell inside Mistingrise, of course, since nearly everything was Teodor's monochromatic gray. The intense red of his -- and Chelm's -- coat was almost a relief against the gray. The tattooed human kneeled respectfully at the side of the bed -- Dacien wondered how long he'd been like that waiting. Not long, Dacien hoped.

"Zebra," Chelm said, quietly, and then, quickly, reached down and picked the human up, holding him tightly. "Oh, Zebra," the minotaur said softly, holding the human carefully in his arms. "I have to let you go," and Chelm put the human back down, gently, onto the bed, and then, incredibly, Chelm himself kneeled down onto the floor. "I have to let you go," he said again, and this time, Dacien heard the pain in Chelm's voice. The volume had vanished, too, and now Chelm was almost level with the human.

Zebra hadn't said anything, still, but Dacien still thought he could see tension in the human's face as Chelm continued speaking. "You belong to Dacien, now --" and Dacien saw a slight twitch in the human, although Zebra was still looking directly at Chelm "-- and I know you will serve him as well as you have me."

"But ..." the single word of protest was chopped off under Dacien knew not what discipline, transformed into a tight, unhappy nod of acknowledgement.

Chelm nodded back, and stood, and then turned to Dacien. "Brother mine, this is the single most precious thing I have ... had," he corrected himself. "Had. If you weren't my brother, if ..." and Dacien could almost hear him thinking, if Zebra didn't need to be near my Father.

"I know," Dacien said, finding what he hoped were the right words somewhere. "I am ... honored. Thank you. From ..." he paused. "I don't know how to say it properly, but I thank you. Brother."

Chelm just nodded, again. "I know you'll take care of him," the minotaur whispered, and again, Dacien heard the unvoiced because I cannot.

"I will."

"Lord ..." Chelm's voice faltered for a moment. "Lord Chime's guard needs ... I have to prepare for our departure."

"Of course," Dacien said, and then, "but you'll be back."

"Probably not."

"Not today, I didn't mean today."

"Oh," said Chelm. "Yes. Not today. I will be back, though, when I can. As soon as I can." It sounded like a promise, Dacien thought. "Of course." Chelm's eyes flickered back to Zebra, and then to the door. "I ..."

"You need to go, I understand," Dacien said. "It will be fine. Go."

"I thought we'd have more time," Chelm said, softly, and then he'd left the room. Zebra's eyes tracked his old Master's exit, and then flickered back to Dacien, and immediately focused on the far wall.

"You can talk," Dacien said, after a moment. "I mean, you may talk. I think ... I'd prefer it, to this silence thing."

"Yes, Sir," Zebra said, very quietly, and then "I mean, Master. I'm sorry, Master ... It won't ... won't happen again, Master."

Dacien sighed. "Don't worry about it. We've got ... more important things to discuss, I think."

Zebra risked a glance at him, and then returned to staring at the wall. "Yes, Master."

"You can look at me," Dacien said. "Or anything else you want to look at ..." he broke off, wishing, suddenly, he'd been able to ask Teodor how to handle this. Actually, he'd been in much the same situation, if not exactly the same, that first night at Mistingrise. I'm doing this wrong, he thought.

Dacien walked softly around the bed, trying not to think about hoof prints and carpet. He failed that, but he did manage not to laugh out loud. He took off his shirt, set it on the table, and then laid down on the bed. Zebra was facing away from him, as stiffly as ever.

"Comfortable?" he asked, after a minute or so.

"Yes, Master." The reply was almost automatic, and Dacien let the quiet close over the response for a minute before he continued.

"Are you ..." scared, worried, curious ... all suggested themselves, and Dacien settled on "angry?"

"No, Master," and again, the words were quick. And untrue, Dacien realized, but forcing the issue didn't seem like the right thing.

"I suppose it was a surprise."

"Yes, Master."

"It surprised me too," Dacien admitted. "I wasn't sure what to think about it." Zebra was silent, unmoving, and Dacien continued. "On the whole, though, I'm glad." He waited another minute, and said, "That's your cue to say something."

"Yes, Master," Zebra said. "Thank you."

Dacien blinked. "I did something?" He paused. "No, that's not fair. I'm sorry, Zebra. This is ... an unusual situation for me. Too." He let the silence deepen a little. "You're only going to respond to direct questions," he said softly. "Is there anything you'd like to know?"

"Master?"

"I mean," said Dacien, "Chelm has just ... transferred you to me, without a hint, as far as I know, and ... you've got to be wondering about something. So ... what would you like to know? I can't believe you're just ... that accepting. I ..." and Dacien paused. If Teodor had just given him to ... to ... Lord Green, say, or Trand, or Chelm for that matter, how would he feel? "What would you like to know?"

"How I can best serve you, Master," said Zebra, sounding slightly puzzled.

Dacien started to say something about that rote answer, and then stopped. "That's ... not what I expected, but then, maybe I don't know what I expected," Dacien said. "So, to answer you, Zebra, I don't know yet. I imagine we'll find out, in the days to come, but right now ... I don't know. I suppose that's part of why I'm asking you questions. I don't mean to make this difficult for you, although ... although I imagine it must be."

"It's my duty to make it easy for you, Master."

Dacien nodded, and then realized that Zebra, still sitting where he was put, still facing the wall, was unable to see him. "If you'd like to move, Zebra, you may."

"Thank you, Master," the human said, but as Dacien waited, the human didn't move.

"Zebra?"

"Yes, Master?"

Dacien started to ask just what Zebra wanted, and then paused. Maybe ... there just wasn't enough of Zebra left, after being with Chelm for ... for ... "How long were you ... with Chelm?"

"Many years, Master. More than fifteen, less than twenty, I think. I don't know, exactly. I'm sorry, Master."

So long. thought Dacien with a shiver. So long. That's what a human looks like after a lifetime with a minotaur. And more, he realized. No wonder minotaurs -- all of them -- looked so surprised when a human voiced an opinion, or had a thought, or even a desire other than pleasing whatever minotaur that human looked to. Did they even know what they were doing to their humans, year after year, loving them, eroding them, until there was ... what? What was left? A shell that would collapse without a minotaur to fill it? Was that what was happening here? Was there really nothing left?

"Zebra," said Dacien. "Chelm didn't really want to give you to me."

The stripes on Zebra's back heaved, once, and his head twitched, but the human said nothing. He'd been trained too well, Dacien thought.

"It hurt him to have to give you up," Dacien continued, softly, pitching his voice low, even for his new voice. "Badly. You don't ... he didn't want you to see him hurt."

Now, Zebra turned, looking at Dacien. "I hurt him?" the human blurted out.

Dacien shook his head. "No. Giving you ... to me hurt him."

"Yes!" said Zebra, "that's what I meant. Are ..." and then he stopped, his muscles clenching hard, and then releasing. "I'm sorry, Master."

"For what?"

"For talking out of turn, Master."

Dacien started to shake his head, and then had to stop as his horns began to dig into the bed. "Please talk, Zebra," he said. Dacien took a deep breath. "I need you to talk," he said, with a puff of breath halfway between a sigh and a sob.

"Master?"

"I need to know ..." started Dacien, and then he stopped. What did he need to know? How destructive a minotaur was to a human? That it wasn't? That there might be something left of the original Zebra, whoever he'd been? And why ... no. No, this was wrong. It wasn't what he needed, however baffled and confused he felt. He was ... well, he was the minotaur, and Zebra was too well trained to be anything other than a minotaur's human, at least to a minotaur. "Chelm didn't want you to know, but you're ill," Dacien said.

"I know," said Zebra, sounding resigned, and a little surprised.

"You knew?"

Zebra shook his head, and the stripes seemed to glitter as he moved. "I always knew. How could he think I wouldn't know? He put me to sleep for the treatments, but I always felt so much better after." The human looked at Dacien, disbelieving. "Mas -- my previous Master, I mean, didn't think I knew?"

Dacien shrugged, and then smiled. "I don't know, but ... Chelm is the sort to see what he wants to see, and ... I don't think he wanted you to worry."

"Oh," said Zebra. "I wasn't worried." Doubt crept into his voice. "Should I have been? Is ... is there something to be worried about?"

"No, not really, not now," said Dacien. "My ... Lord Fog has a way to ... to fix it, so ... Chelm gave you to me so that you'd be nearer Lord Fog. One reason. And ... and I think he wanted to give me something he knew that I knew he valued. You. You're ... you're important to him."

"I'm not," came back the whisper. "I thought I was ... but I'm not." Zebra trembled, although his voice remained steady. "I'm not ..." and finally, Dacien heard real emotion in the man's voice.

Desolation. Despair.

"You are," Dacien said, putting all his conviction into the two words. "So important that he'd rather lose you than harm you. What's wrong isn't fixable, as I understand it, and it hurts you. Chelm invented a way to minimize the hurt, but ... Teodor's magic can stop and even reverse it. Chelm had to decide between watching you die, and giving you up."

Dacien paused. "Zebra, Chelm couldn't bear to watch you die. That's why he gave you to me." He waited another few heartbeats that seemed horribly long, and then reached out, touched Zebra lightly on the shoulder. "Zebra ..."

"I would have," Zebra said, very softly. "I'd have been happy, if I could have stayed ..."

"Zebra," Dacien said, pulling the human toward him. "I know. Believe me, I know." The memory of his earlier conversation with Chelm raced through his head like some kind of bizarre deja vu. "He knows, too. But ... what do you think that would have done to him?"

"What?" asked Zebra, turning to face Dacien on the bed.

"Minotaurs -- as you may have noticed -- are very protective of their humans," Dacien said. "Overbearing, overwhelming ... but overprotective, maybe."

A smile crossed Zebra's face, and he nodded. "I've noticed that. Master."

Dacien nodded. "So the only way he could protect you ..."

Zebra just shook his head. "I see. I wish ..."

"Things may change," Dacien said. "Hey. You won't feel sick anymore. That's got to be worth something."

"Yes," said Zebra, after a moment. "That's ... worth something. But ..."

"You miss him, of course," said Dacien. "It hurts. It aches. And it's going to get worse."

Zebra just stared at him.

"'Strue," said Dacien, sitting up on the bed. "C'mere." He cradled the tattooed human by his side. "No point in pretending it won't. But ... as bad as it is, and it will be bad, I'm sorry, Zebra, but I know it's going to be bad, it will get better. How's that?"

"Master?" said Zebra, cautiously.

"We're ... we're just going to sleep, Zebra." For some reason, and Dacien resolved to ask Teodor about it, he just hadn't been aroused at all since he woke up.

Since he'd changed.

Maybe he was just ... still young? For a minotaur? He'd worry about it later, he thought, suddenly sleepy. He pulled Zebra -- his Zebra, he thought, closer, feeling the warmth of the human's bare skin slowly seeping through his pelt. Mine. My human, now. Strange, but ... Dacien inhaled, the scent of Zebra strong, Chelm's scent still there, and ... his scent, Dacien realized. Zebra smelled not merely of Chelm, but of Dacien, and that scent was growing stronger. There was something comforting about holding the human to him.

He'd have to ask Teodor about that, too.