The Forgefires of God (The Cause Book 3) (31 page)

So, on top of all the drama and excitement, Gilgamesh was supposed to be planning his duel?  The culvert idea sounded better with every moment that passed.

“Gilgamesh?” Tiamat said.  Tiamat, Hoskins, Gail, and Shadow had finally showed up in the Lodge’s wine room, a small room Tiamat had commandeered for a private strategy session.

Gilgamesh opened his eyes and tried to round up his scattered thoughts.

“Congratulations, Guru Gilgamesh,” Hoskins said.  “You know, most men are satisfied with just a few kids.  You’ve got how many coming?  Fifteen?  Twenty?”

“Thank you, your grace.  Only eight.”

“And congratulations to you, too, lady Focus.”  Hoskins did a full bow with a flourish, and then kissed Gail’s hand.

Gail’s eyes widened a half-second and then she stood tall and responded like a queen.  “Thank you most kindly, your grace.”

Tiamat studied Gail as much as she could these days, and the juice Gail gave her was good for her.  At least something was good for her.  The damage she did to herself by feeding her beast was bleak indeed, warping her juice structure, and she continued to drag the rest of her companions down with her.

“Business,” Tiamat said, putting aside her personal feelings.  “Shadow, have the final duel arrangements been made?”

Shadow waited for everyone to settle into chairs around the heavy antique table.  “Yes.  Thomas the Dreamer is judging, and the duel goes on only long enough for Gilgamesh to prove his competence.”

Tiamat’s eyes narrowed.  “How long is ‘long enough’?”

“According to the terms, the duration of the duel is one minute.  If Gilgamesh lasts one minute against Phobos, he’s proved himself.”

Tiamat and Hoskins exchanged glances, neither of them happy.  “A minute?” Tiamat said.

“A minute.  Is there a problem?  A minute seems quite reasonable,” Shadow said.

“A minute is an eternity in a real fight,” Hoskins said.

Shadow frowned.  “A minute is short for a Crow duel.”

“In that case, I need to see a Crow duel,” Tiamat said.  “Are there two Crows around who’ve dueled before?”

“I have,” Shadow said.  “Occum and Gilgamesh haven’t, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Sky has dueled in the past.”

“Fine.  Get him over to the drill ground and give me the show.”

Sky was indeed an experienced duelist.  They all headed out to the patch of field that Tiamat called the drill ground.

On the way out, fifty feet from the door, Gilgamesh saw Shadow turn back to see Focus Biggioni standing at her window and stretching, taking a brief break from her eternal phone calls.  Shadow smiled at her, and Biggioni waved.

Hell, Gilgamesh grumbled to himself.  Newton with Cathy Elspeth and Shadow on good terms with Biggioni.  This place was turning into a damned soap opera.

He thanked the absent Gods that his own long-running personal soap opera was finally over.

“Gilgamesh, it’s all right.  It’ll be all right,” Gail said, hugging him close, her nose in his hair.  Tiamat had called Gail over once they finished the practice duels.  They huddled near a cluster of bushes by the practice field, where Gilgamesh squatted on his haunches and wanted to throw something.  Throw something besides his lunch, that is.  Lunch, alas, was long gone.

Phobos would chew up Gilgamesh’s ass and hand it to him on a platter.  Three practice duels with Sky, and Sky knocked him out in less than twenty seconds each time.  Sky was, by his own claim, rather good at dueling, and to Gilgamesh’s surprise, Sky did last a full minute with Shadow, though Sky’s expression of horror once the minute ended was priceless.  In fact, once you got Sky started on his dueling stories, he never stopped talking about them.  Gilgamesh hadn’t realized that Rumor had spent some time in Canada during the Crow’s Days of Struggle, but it didn’t surprise him that Rumor and Sky hadn’t gotten along, or that they had dueled over dross sources.  Several times.

Tiamat’s face was dark with anger as she paced the soggy practice field.  Gilgamesh’s incompetence was screwing up her plans.

“All right, let’s think about this,” Tiamat said, visibly controlling her temper.  “Why the hell is he so fucking awful?”  Gilgamesh slumped into a puddle, and wished he could slump even more.

Shadow sighed from his place on the sidelines.  “Gilgamesh didn’t specialize in the dueling skills.  His talents lie in long term dross effects, all of which take many minutes to set up, like his golf bombs.”

Hoskins, next to Shadow, rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully.  “What, exactly, are the Rules to this duel?”

“Rules, unfortunately, are not as clear with Crows as they are with Nobles.  A duel is between two Crows, each using his own abilities as a Crow.  Other than that, rules are more nebulous.”

“So give me some examples.” Hoskins said.  “Can he use weaponry?”

“No.  His own abilities only.”

“So no weaponry.  What about if he punched Phobos in the face?”

Shadow blinked, and Gilgamesh found himself frowning thoughtfully.  “Fisticuffs would certainly be unusual,” Shadow said.  “I can’t think of how it would be against the rules, though.”

“What about preparing ahead of time?” Gilgamesh said, seeing the possibilities.

“Preparation is fine, as long as you use your own abilities,” Shadow said. “You’re thinking about having some of those golf bombs with you?”

Gilgamesh nodded.  “What about preparing the site?” he said.

Shadow frowned.  Sky shrugged.  “As the challenged party, he gets to choose the site,” Sky said.  “It seems reasonable that he could prepare the site however he wanted.  Not that I’ve ever seen any Crow attempt to prepare a site, but I can tell you controlled wild dogs aren’t…”

“What about my sling shot?” Gilgamesh said, interrupting.  “Does that count as a weapon?”

This time Shadow and Sky just looked at each other and neither said anything.

“Is the damage coming from the slingshot, or from the dross construct?” Tiamat said.

“The dross construct,” Shadow said, “but even so, a slingshot is a weapon.”

Hoskins shook his head.  “What are the Rules, Master Shadow?”

“It’s hard to say what the Rules are for a duel, your grace.  They’re based on custom, established over many years.”

“Don’t make up Rules that aren’t there.  If the Rules are nebulous, interpret them to your advantage.”

“Think aggressively,” Tiamat said.  “Attack, keep attacking.  Attack after that, then attack some more.  Keep Phobos so busy defending himself from you that he can’t afford to attack you back.”

Gilgamesh ran his fingers through his hair and wished he could bury himself in the bottom of the earth somewhere.  “Aggressive.  Right.”  He was just too damned
slow
.

“You know Chevalier is going to pull a dirty trick if things go badly, don’t you?” Tiamat said.

Aggressive, Gilgamesh thought.  Hah!

“I would like to think not,” Shadow said.  “Unfortunately, I suspect you’re correct.”

“So, you need a few dirty tricks, too.”

Gilgamesh blinked.  “I thought we were supposed to be the good guys.”

“No!” Tiamat said, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “You’re supposed to be the
winners
!”

Gail Rickenbach: December 23, 1972

“This place is beautiful,” Beth said, looking around one of the suites in Gail’s assigned wing of the Lodge.  Gail’s people were crammed ten or more in rooms meant for two.  She worried the inside of her cheek; Beth’s people were stuck in their cold campers and mobile homes, her entire gypsy camp moved to the Adirondacks from Chicago.  Beth had been touchy ever since the Littleside attack, and being relegated to the parking lot again wouldn’t help.

“Inferno’s in charge of arrangements,” Gail said.  She waved at Vera Bracken, who was moving aside suitcases and looking under tables.  Vera pantomimed that her luggage was still lost.  Gail pumped Vera, gave her an understanding smile, and turned back to Beth.  “So, what’s new?  You got assigned to the transportation detail, didn’t you?”

Beth nodded.  “That, and to some of the clean-up responsibilities, as well.  Say, Gail, do you know what’s going on with Newton?  First he was here, with us, and now he’s gone.”

Oh.  That.

“Uh, well, ah, he’s trying to help Focus Morris take care of Focus Elspeth.”

“Elspeth?  What’s a first Focus doing here?  Or two firsts.  Morris’s always taken the concept of petty to new heights.  What sort of help?”

“Ah, yes, Focus Elspeth suffers from a little problem.”

“Some Arm took her out, too?  Elspeth?” Beth said, and frowned.  “What’d she ever do to deserve Arm attention?”

“Here.  Sit down,” Gail said.  There was a little room to sit, under the overhang of the pass-through counter between the kitchen and dining room.  Not much room, and the counter overhang, which could be used as an additional dinette table, was piled high with luggage, so at least they weren’t in anyone’s way.  “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

“The Keaton attacks and Keaton’s capture?  More than I want to.  I take it Focus Elspeth was one of Hancock’s assigned targets?”

Gail nodded.  “It turned out that Cathy wore Patterson’s tag, and…”  Gail filled Beth in on that part of the story, Beth alternately flushing, frowning and furrowing her eyebrows in worry.  Gail spoke about her Dreaming activities only indirectly, but Beth knew too much about her and her Dreaming tricks, giving her further cause to worry.  “So Newton went to comfort her and help put Cathy back together,” Gail said, nearing her conclusion.  “I think it’s doing some good.”  Gail couldn’t hear Elspeth moaning any more.

“Why did Newton do this?  I don’t understand Crows,” Beth said.

“Join the crowd.”

“Do you think this is Newton being professional, or is it…”

Gail shook her head.  “Lori calls this the baby duckling syndrome.  Crows find it hard to resist comforting someone in trouble who matches their personality or juice structure or something equally inane.  She said Crows tend to bond with people easier in stress situations, as well.”

“I lost him, then.  Not that I ever had him; I couldn’t ever seem to get Newton interested in my household.  In anything except, well, me.”  Beth put her head in her hands.  “I know, I know.  You told me Newton was skittish.”

“You pressed him.”

“Only a little,” Beth said, turning away from Gail’s gaze.

Oops.

“Pressing Gilgamesh is next to useless.  I couldn’t even get him to stay with my household in the Lodge.  He’s off with the other Crows, somewhere.”  Press a Crow and he runs.

“Crows are impossible.”

“I’ve heard that said,” Gail said.  She smiled.

Beth sat and stared at infinity.  Gail could faintly sense Beth using her charisma.  On herself.  “Well,” Beth said, a couple of minutes later, her false smile back on her face.  “I guess that clears that up.  Thanks.”

Beth stood and stalked off, stripping a few points off her bodyguards to get their attention, then chewing them out for no particular reason.  Gail put her hands over her face as she giggled.  Beth was just too pleasant a person, even after her lover dumped her.  If Gilgamesh dumped Gail for another Focus, the whole world would know.

Changes, though.  Beth hadn’t complained at all about being relegated to the truck driver and clean-up crew.  Being stuck down near the bottom of the pecking order in the Commander’s army was, well, hard on anyone’s pride, but Beth was holding up better than some of the Focuses.  Like herself.  However, before Gail even got to start complaining about not being given the chance to pull her own weight, Carol had cornered her and told her how important her job was, no matter how silly it sounded.  “Bring in the Crows,” Carol had said.  “
Be
your charisma.  Everything we’re doing, long term, depends on what you’re going to be doing with them.”

The sky was clear, the air crisp and cold.  The light rain that fell a few hours ago now collected in puddles, each topped with a thin surface of ice.  Gail smiled and cracked the ice in each puddle she came to, just for fun.  Her black cloak, a gift from Terry Bishop of Inferno, swirled around her.  Valerie Faulkner, one of her bodyguards today, rolled her eyes in amusement.

Gail’s job in the war was outwardly simple: show up at the Crow duel, be aggressively pregnant, and politically represent the Commander to all the Crows.  The task bothered her because so many of the others in the camp were going in on the fight in Pittsburgh and risking their lives.  The diplomacy associated with her task was touchy, though, and diplomacy and low-end political organization was supposed to be her true specialty as a Focus.  The Crows had legitimate complaints regarding Focus mistreatment.  Her behavior would need to be exquisite.

Gail metasensed Sky behind the big kitchen tent.  She stopped with a jolt, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists.  Sky was chatting up a Focus, a witch in both the old and new senses of the word, likely one of Polly’s recently trained crew.  There were nearly a dozen of these new witches, mostly Northeast region Focuses new to Gail.  Polly described them as adequate in a defensive struggle, but not well enough trained to participate in an attack.