38

 

Muol was in the House of Bones. Bones implied passions of hatred more than desire, although Polion’s mind was definitely attuned toward desire. Tonight was the night!

Zanion… may Iviel rot his guts! Zanion had given him first watch. That was probably deliberate spite. He was still getting back at Polion for Meilim’s fairy tales. The assumption was that Niad would be asleep when Polion came off duty. Well, Niad had made him promise to waken her if she was. He had promised. He had not taken much persuading.

Poul was in the House of Creation. Babies born in the spring usually thrived. And Jaul was in Lovers, although her retrograde motion hinted more at madness than reason. Better to invert the house: chaos to enemies made a good augury.

The wood was dark and utterly still. Polion could not recall a night with less wind. The stillness certainly made for easy guard duty; he could hear leaves rustle under blankets every time anyone rolled over in the camp. He could hear the snoring. Earlier, he had even heard the children speaking over in the Jaulscath camp. Nothing else. Once or twice an owl had hooted, but that was all. A mouse couldn’t sneak up on him unheard.

He leaned against a tree and tried not to get too aroused thinking of Niad. Tonight was the night. At last! He had been married a whole week with nothing to show for it.

Awail would rise soon, just past the full. She would be in the House of Travel tonight. That might be significant. In fact there had been change in travel already. Crossing the Flugoss had brought them into Wesnar, a mysteriously deserted Wesnar. The absence of people was eerie, although logically it meant that there could be no enemies around. It just felt wrong. When Awail was three fingers above the hill, he could go and waken Jukion to take over.

Then waken Niad, if she was asleep.

A grown man with whiskers and still a virgin! Married a whole week and still a virgin! It was disgusting.

The wedding night had been his own fault. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for drinking too much and passing out. But then that gang of mud-headed donkeys had decided to carry him off to Bad Cove. Zanion had gone along with the jest, because of Meilim. He had let the others tie Polion to a horse, and they hadn’t stopped laughing the whole way. Big, big joke!

And then, when he had been reunited with his wife, she had sadly told him that the time was wrong. He’d have to wait a few days. He had seriously considered just going crazy at that point.

He had wondered if he was fated to die a virgin.

A golden glow in the eastern sky heralded moon rise.

Today Niad had said it would be all right tonight, but Zanion had given him first watch. Well, it was going to be more than all right. He was going to rustle enough leaves and snap enough twigs to waken the whole camp. Three times a night from now on! He was going to have the last laugh on those jokers—he had his wife along with him now and they did not. He would yawn at them all day and rustle leaves at them all night. Revenge was going to be very sweet.

Niad was going to be very sweet, and ever so satisfied with her husband.

After all, he was the family hero. The Old Man had said so—a true Zardon! Except for Wraxal and Vaslar, he was the only man in the group who had ever actually killed anyone. He had no reason to doubt his manhood. Strong hands grabbed his wrists, hauling his arms back and pinning him against the tree. He opened his mouth to cry out and a cloth was jammed into it. He felt the icy touch of a knife at his throat. A pale face glimmered in the darkness before him—empty sockets in place of eyes, a hole where there should be a nose, white teeth—a skull, leering triumphantly at him. He had not heard a sound.