Alta

Because the senior Jousters weren’t using the practice field, and no one was going to play spectator in the rain, at last Kiron’s wing was able to practice right at the Compound. And because they were having to fly slowly anyway, and missile weapons were useless, they were practicing real Jousting. Kiron didn’t expect them to ever have to use the skill, but it was better to have it than not, and the spies would take it amiss if they weren’t trying to learn it.

There was a new modification to the harnesses; Kiron had mandated it for the boys, first, but now even the senior Jousters had asked for the additions. “We can’t afford pride,” one of them had growled. “There are too few of us.”

So now everyone had harness straps holding them to their saddles. The straps could be broken—oh, yes—and if a Jouster was hit hard enough to break the straps, he would certainly fall to his death—but it took a lot more to kill an Altan Jouster now, at least.

So there were bruises and strains among them, as well as the Jousters, compounded with their simple exhaustion. Orest even had a spectacularly black eye.

Only one person looked alert, for Kaleth ate with them now instead of by himself. He had decided to do this on his own; it had taken him something of an effort, and Kiron was very proud of him for taking that step. Normally he was as silent as the rest of them during a meal, but tonight, after a cautious glance to see that no one was within easy listening range, he leaned over and whispered, “I have to talk to you all after dinner.”

Kiron groaned inwardly—Orest, who was clearly in some pain, groaned openly. “Can’t it wait?” he asked plaintively.

“No. Come to Heklatis’ quarters,” Kaleth said shortly, looked around again, and went back to his meal as if he had said nothing at all.

But that certainly got their attention. Heklatis’ quarters were securely guarded against every sort of magical spying that the Healer knew of; they had only gone there once or twice, when they wanted to be sure that nothing they said could be overheard. The first time had been when he and Aket-ten reported the successful release of the dust, the second, when Heklatis wanted them to hear that the Temple of the Twins was now tended only by servants, the Winged Ones being in their quarters from the time the Magi brought them back from the tower until the time the Magi came for them again in the morning.

Now, Heklatis had certainly lived up to the reputation of Akkadians as being as clever as five cats and as slippery as a serpent, because he had managed to arrange things so that even if a Magus discovered all of the protections on his quarters, himself, and the boys, he had a perfectly logical explanation that would hold up to the closest scrutiny.

All of the “shields and wards” as he called them had been cast on the images of his gods in his quarters, images that had indisputably come with him from Akkad. He could protest in all innocence that he had no idea there was any magic on them, but that they had been blessed by the priests of his nation. And as for the protections on himself, the boys, and Aket-ten, well, those were all centered in Akkadian amulets, which he could claim had also come with him and been similarly blessed, and to prove it, he still had a chest full of similar amulets, all of which had gotten the same “blessing.”

It was unlikely in the extreme that anyone would even guess that he and Kiron had spent the better part of two days making a mold of his amulet, casting dozens of copies, firing them, and stringing them on cords, nor that it had been Heklatis, not some priest, who had put the spells on them. How supremely ironic it had been, that Kiron had used the skills he had picked up in the service of Khefti-the-Fat!

As for why Heklatis would have bestowed those amulets on the boys—the reason was simple. He, and they, would claim truthfully that they had asked for them, seeing the image of a winged solar disk on them, so like the same symbol of the Altan sun god.

Clever, clever Akkadian. How would they have managed without him?

He would have liked to ask Kaleth about a hundred questions, but Kaleth downed the last of his soup, drinking it straight from the bowl, and left the table. The rest of them exchanged glances after he left that varied from resignation to astonishment. Whatever was going on, it was Kaleth, above all of them, who had the most to lose, and knew how careful they must be. He would not have told them to do this unless there was a very, very good reason.

So, how to come up with a good excuse for the whole lot of them to descend on Heklatis. . . .

It seems as if I spend half my life now trying to come up with innocent reasons to do something in case someone is watching, he thought wearily. I am very tired of this.