Chapter 8

"There is no need," Ban-Den repeated.

Though the jade horse could seemingly run forever, McAllister judged Ban-Den could not. "There is no use in you running three days without sleep," McAllister told him.

"I can fight for two days after riding for three," the sub-lieutenant replied with a degree of stubbornness.

"It is not fighting that I think we shall need," McAllister answered, "but subtlety."

Later, with the two horses standing nose to nose, the two men discussed what they might find. "I have never dealt with academicians," McAllister confessed.

"They are strange," Ban-Den opined, "though they sometimes are difficult to cow."

"How shall we do this, do you suppose?" McAllister asked.

"Spirit him away in the night, if we can, and all his research and materiel. Best to simply vanish without a trace. Worst would be to explain why."

McAllister nodded, in this the strange man's thinking ran close to his. "Worst would be a massive explosion, perhaps destroying a portion of the University, I think. Maybe best would be to convince him to leave, with a cover story ... a sudden death, an inheritance?"

The other considered it. "How would we explain your long nose in the matter?"

McAllister touched the feature in question. "The inheritance has to do with an overland trade route to the Middle Sea kingdoms. I am the agent of a trading firm, intent on seeing that my profitable ... rug? spice? jade? trade will continue with the heir, and have agreed to undertake the journey across the large ocean."

"Very well. No more than four hours rest here, long-nose. I do not like the delay." The strange, short man trailed off, and seemed, like McAllister, to be considering the source of the sense of urgency.

Late in the second day, Sable bespoke McAllister. "McAllister, there is something in a saddlebag that is pinching me."

McAllister looked down at the saddlebags. Sable had reduced most of the things within in size, where there were many of the things they gathered in the City of the Light, the short form of the name for the city they had just departed. McAllister thought there was a particular poetry in the name.

Frowning, he lifted a pannier off the horse's back and, putting it across his knees, began to search for whatever in the bag might pinch the flank of a horse of steel.

Ban-Den and the jade horse stopped when McAllister stopped, and watched in curiosity as McAllister rummaged through the bag.

"Damn it!" McAllister said, and then withdrew the tiny sliver of wood, the thing he took from the storeroom in the City of the Light. With a bemused expression, he sensed it was somehow angry at him.

"Sable," he said, "restore this, please?"

"I have to be able to see it, McAllister," the horse reminded him.

Moments later, McAllister held the full-size stick in his hand and stared at the hostile face rudely carved into the object. "We ride for Sea's-Home," he told it on sudden whim. "With me is Ban-Den, a mysterious agent and former bodyguard for the child-Empress."

Ban-Den snorted, and McAllister thought the face carved into the wood turned its attention to the mysterious man, and then returned it to McAllister.

"I ride with my companion Sable, the horse whose hide you doubtless found difficult to pinch."

Ban-Den regarded McAllister strangely, and even Sable looked at him oddly.

McAllister shrugged. "I can sense it wants to know what goes on about it," he defended himself.

"How do you know it is not an enemy?" Ban-Den asked.

Sable snorted agreement, the equine sound drawing McAllister's attention. "McAllister, we do not know what that thing is. If it has awareness, we should ... find a deacon, I was to say, though then I remembered that Ban-Den can judge."

Looking sour at the prospect, the short man nodded once. McAllister handed the stick to Ban-Den, and immediately the air began to feel electric, tension ramping rapidly, the sudden potential for violence raising hairs on McAllister's neck.

Ban-Den grimaced, and his right hand began to shake, and moments later smoke rose from his hand as he trembled, a look of terrible concentration on his face. Moments passed, then he looked up at McAllister. "Take it back, please. It is still hurting me, and I cannot open my hand."

As McAllister retrieved the piece of wood, a flash of something leapt from the end to Ban-Den's crotch, sizzling the air as it passed.

Almost immediately, the short man made a strange face, and McAllister watched as a look of resolve replaced the stunned surprise the shorter man showed.

"What happened?" McAllister asked.

"We had a contest of wills," Ban-Den answered, shortly. "It is not evil nor does it mean us lasting harm, though it will perform acts of mischief, such as that last one. It means to determine if we ... you, McAllister, and by extension Lady Sable, and then I would suppose me, are worthy enough of it. What its purpose is, I could not divine, but it is aware of itself a small amount, and aware of the world to a lesser degree."

He took a breath, and then finished. "It is also vindictive. It did not want me to hold it, and it began our struggle by jangling the nerves in my right hand and arm. When I would not let go, it began to burn my hand, and I will need you to bandage it, McAllister."

"What was that last thing?" Sable asked them both, in the silent manner.

"It is a vindictive ... curse, I would say. It learned about me as I was learning about it, and it knows I have no woman near. It paralyzed my right hand, and cursed me with..." the man stopped.

"McAllister, do not laugh," he said seriously. "I think we will be good companions, and I would not like to fight."

McAllister nodded, gravely.

"It cursed me with an erection that will not go down, and an ... itch ... that is growing. I said it was vindictive, it laughed at me when I told it my will was stronger than its."

McAllister's eyes widened. "Sable and I will ride ahead of you," he said. "Do what you must about the situation. I do not wish to tarry here longer."

Ban-Den nodded, while McAllister found bandages for his burned hand.

As the morning progressed, they moved through a golden, grassy valley on the flanks of hills to their left. Behind them, the low muttering Ban-Den had started shortly after the ill-omened contest of wills grew louder. Now-discernable curses in a language McAllister did not know floated to them over the sound of the horse's hooves. McAllister guessed Ban-Den was too far behind them for the Mother's gift to translate the intent behind the words. Yet, he refused to look back and see what the other man might be doing.

"I have not heard him speak so much before," Sable commented as they cantered up the long valley between mountain ranges.

"His will is strong, as is his pride," McAllister observed. "I do not think he will try to gain relief on a moving horse while using his left hand."

Behind them, as the jade horse jumped over a small gully, they heard a frustrated groan.

"McAllister, I would do a thing," the horse said.

"Yes," he replied, "you probably should."

"Ban-Den," Sable said, and the man jerked out of his private torture to hear her human voice. "How strong is your will?"

Red-faced, the man answered. McAllister perceived it wasn't in the man to lie or evade, as shameful as the answer was. "I tried to end the curse with my left hand, as you must have guessed. I apparently favor my right hand."

"Lily is not here," Sable pursued. "And we need you able to function. Is the urge not terrible?"